Maybe Someday
by Lawson227
Summary: COMPLETE A followup to one of my earliest Psych-fics, BOTH SIDES NOW. After having peaceably worked together for months Juliet and Carlton find themselves navigating new relationship waters in the wake of an unexpected situation. While this can be considered a post S6 stand-alone with its attendant spoilers, it will definitely be referring back to incidences that took place in BSN.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**AN:** Once upon a time, I decided to play around with writing some fanfic for _psych_, primarily based around Carlton and Juliet, who I saw as possessing gorgeous chemistry, especially in S4. My second story in the 'verse was the could-conceivably-take-place-within-canon **_Both Sides Now_**. Then Loafer started prodding me to take a walk on the non-canon wild side and there I've lived fairly comfortably, especially as S6 evolved and I wasn't exactly nuts about some of the developments. Recently, however, Loafer mentioned she'd love to see a follow up to _Both Sides Now_ and given how often she indulges _my_ whims and writes stories based on my suggestions, I figured it was my turn to return the favor.

**Fair warning:** while this _can_ be considered a post S6 stand-alone with its attendant spoilers, it will definitely be referring back to incidences that took place in _BSN_.

As usual, no infringement intended, I own nothing of **_psych_**, save for the ideas tumbling about in my head.

* * *

No crime scene could ever be called _good_—especially for what appeared to be a homicide—but as scenes went, this one wasn't… _terrible_. Located in a canyon adjacent to the Botanic Gardens, it consisted of human remains revealed after recent seasonal rains and a nasty mudslide. Buried long enough that human decomp had combined with the natural loamy decay that under any other circumstance might be considered pleasant into an earthy sort of aroma that could best be described as… ripe.

As far as the condition of the remains themselves? Well, as far as the M.E. on site could figure, they'd been there somewhere in the neighborhood of a month so the body's overall condition definitely resembled something out of a horror film.

Still, though, they'd definitely dealt with much, much worse—including Spencer and Guster following a three-day binge of John Waters movies and the Buy Six Get Six Free ancho chili and bean burrito special at Mucho Gusto Gustatoriam.

Which was why Karen's Spidey-sense was more than a little a'tingle from watching Detective Juliet O'Hara grow progressively greener as the M.E., clearly a disciple of Woody Strode, described the victim's condition with morbid glee. It was while describing the presence of various insects and what, exactly, they had done to the body, all while holding a wiggling, pale white worm-like beast up like he'd just won the blue ribbon at the Calaveras County Fair, that O'Hara finally gave up the ghost, clapping a hand over her mouth and running off into a densely wooded copse.

When Lassiter made as if to follow, Karen held him back with a curt, "You supervise the rest of the canvass—I'll see to O'Hara."

"But—"

"Detective, no woman likes a man to see her losing her lunch. It's… a thing."

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "But I'm her partner."

"And a man." Karen held him in place with a well-practiced glare. "I'll make certain to let you know if you're needed but for now, Detective, the scene takes precedence."

He nodded and while he didn't look particularly happy, at the same time, there surrounded him a faint air of relief. Not such a surprise—Carlton was not particularly adept or at ease with offering comfort, although if there was any one person Karen knew he _could_ unbend for, it was O'Hara.

After a few additional instructions she followed the path O'Hara had taken, finding her a few hundred yards away from the primary crime scene. At the sound of Karen's approach, O'Hara straightened, wiping her mouth.

"Chief, I am so sorry—I tried to get as far away from the primary as I could—"

Karen held up a hand, stemming the panicked flow. "Relax, O'Hara. I'd wager this is a good enough distance and if it's not, well then, the forensics unit has certainly dealt with worse. Sorry," she added as a renewed hint of green overtook O'Hara's pale features.

O'Hara shook her head, mouth clamped shut, as if not completely trusting that what might emerge if she opened it would be words.

"Let's get you back to the car."

"But the scene—"

"Is in good hands with Detective Lassiter."

To Karen's shock, O'Hara didn't argue any further, merely nodded as faint wash of pink—relief, no doubt—eased the wan cast to her features. As she turned to head back up the path towards where the cadre of response vehicles was parked, Karen fell into step alongside, her mind working a mile a minute to solve this new mystery.

Except it really wasn't a mystery, was it? True, it was possible O'Hara had food poisoning or a stomach flu bug, but with the sixth sense that had more to do with being a woman who'd gone through the same than that of being a detective, Karen knew it wasn't either of those possibilities.

At the Crown Vic, O'Hara sank into the passenger seat while Karen popped the trunk and rummaged through the contents of the go-bags stored there. In Lassiter's, because of course, it would be, she found what she was looking for.

"Here—" She tore open a pack of saltines and handed one to O'Hara who took it with a flicker of unease reflected in her blue-gray eyes—eyes beneath which there were grayish circles and dammit, why hadn't she noticed this before?

Mostly because Karen would have assumed O'Hara, of all people, to be possessed of a healthy dose of common sense. Then again, love drove people to incredibly rash and inexplicable acts—like dating Shawn Spencer to begin with. Or look at Lassiter and _his_ relationship with a convicted felon.

As O'Hara slowly nibbled at the cracker, Karen uncapped the bottle of water and waited. And observed. Despite the grayish circles and the pallor from this bout of sickness, there was a new, gentle fullness to her face and while nothing else was readily visible, the manner in which O'Hara kept one hand over her abdomen spoke more to protectiveness rather than a token gesture by which to settle queasiness.

Again, Karen just _knew_.

"How far along?"

"A little over three months," she answered softly around tiny bites of cracker and a cautious sip of water.

"Would you like me to call Mr. Spencer?"

"_Shawn_?" O'Hara's glance up was startled to the point of panic. "Oh, God, no Chief, please don't call him."

Karen drew her brows together, first confused, then shocked as she understood the source of O'Hara's alarm. "He doesn't know?" she said quietly, aware that personnel were beginning to make their way back up from the crime scene.

Both arms around her midsection, a fresh wave of nausea overtaking her features, O'Hara shook her head. "No one knows." Her gaze was equal parts panicked and resigned. "Well, no one _knew_."

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly—yet another technique Karen remembered well from those early days and one which she could now recall the younger woman employing on a regular basis around the station. Usually when fresh coffee was brewing or one of the officers brought in a particularly fragrant lunch and dammit, how could she have missed this for so long?

"How have you explained cutting back on coffee to Lassiter?" He was a man, yes, but a detective above almost all else and such a fundamental change to his partner's routine wouldn't go unnoticed. She thought.

A wry smile tugged at O'Hara's mouth. "I've been offering to fetch it more often and get myself decaf tea instead. When he insists on getting it, I only take a sip or two." Her shoulders twitched slightly beneath her boxy suit jacket. "Doctor says one cup a day is acceptable and isn't going to hurt anything."

Okay then—so she'd seen a doctor. Along with her concern for her caffeine intake and the revelation that she was past the crucial first trimester mark made it clear she wasn't about to take measures to… relieve herself of her condition. Which left the question of why she hadn't yet told Shawn and while normally, Karen would file it strictly under "subordinate's personal lives, therefore not of her immediate concern," the fact that it concerned two subordinates and could conceivably affect the day to day operations at the station slid it over into the "_definitely_ of her concern" column.

Damn.

Double damn.

"Were you waiting until you were… _certain_—" a good, all-purpose term that could cover both general health and/or decision-making, "to tell Shawn?"

Once again O'Hara's face tightened into miserable lines. "Chief, I can't tell Shawn. Please, promise you won't say anything—_please_."

Stunned, Karen stared at O'Hara—steady, mature O'Hara, her Head Detective's responsible, more than capable partner—and saw nothing more than a terrified, yet incredibly certain young woman.

"Oh, dear God, Juliet—" She scrubbed a hand over her face, stinging as if it had been physically hit with the irrefutable truth. "It's not Shawn's, is it?"

Silently, Juliet shook her head, her eyes glittering almost feverishly and damp with unshed tears.

"I haven't… _been_ with him since before Henry got shot."

Not quite _four_ months before. Weeks later, not long after the Jerry Carp case had wrapped and it was certain Henry would survive, Shawn, as if overwhelmed by the… gravity—the sheer _adulthoodness_—of it all, had taken off without a word. Stayed away and then had reappeared as suddenly as he'd disappeared ten days earlier, acting as if nothing at all was amiss. Henry was back home and well on his way to a full recovery, Guster was still holding down the fort and working at being an actual responsible adult, and Juliet was… Juliet. Still outwardly bright, still positive, and still tenaciously working cases alongside Lassiter.

As far as Shawn was concerned, nothing had changed.

Yet clearly, everything had changed and even Shawn Spencer, master of denial, had to be aware of it on some level, if he'd made no move to resume his relationship with Juliet. At least, not to the extent to which they'd been previously involved.

Knowing Juliet's baby was not Shawn's should have by all means been a source of relief for Karen—on multiple levels because if there was anyone absolutely _not_ prepared to become a parent... But with that no longer an issue this could slide the information right back into the "subordinate's personal lives, therefore not of her immediate concern," column and yet…

And yet…

The Spidey sense was still tingling madly, prodding her with the knowledge that there was more to this story. More that she _needed_ to know much in the way a seismologist needed to know when the Big One was on the verge of sending the foundations crumbling into insubstantial ash.

"O'Hara—what the hell's the matter? Are you all right? I told you that new Thai place was a bad idea for lunch—who knows if they've even passed their health inspection yet but did you want to listen to me? _Nooo_. Swear to God, I don't know why we couldn't just go to Garden Fresh for salads the way we do every Thursday."

Karen watched the play of expressions flit across O'Hara's face as Lassiter strode up to the car and stared down at her in a familiar mixture of impatience and aggravation tempered by the deep-seated concern Karen had never known him to spare for anyone else. Not even Marlowe.

And in that moment she became irrevocably certain of two things:

One: Juliet O'Hara was carrying Carlton Lassiter's baby.

And two: he had absolutely _no_ clue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**AN: **This chapter alludes to events that took place in _Both Sides Now_. Again, it's not necessary to have read it, but it wouldn't hurt._  
_

Italicized quotes from _Sense & Sensibility_- Jane Austen (1811)

* * *

Karen was well aware that her initial appointment to the position of Chief of Police had been fraught with more than a little bit of political motivation. Even without Lassiter's constant digs and not-so-subtle reminders during the early days of her "Interim" Chief tenure.

She was, however, also quite secure in the knowledge that even without the political machinations that had preceded her ascent to the position, she'd _earned_ it.

In other words, she was a damned fine cop.

It was with those instincts and skills, still as sharply honed as when she'd been on the line, that she spent the next several days following her discovery of O'Hara's secret observing her top detective pair. Observing, in particular, one Head Detective Carlton Lassiter.

She 'd known of his feelings for O'Hara for quite some time— in part because she made it a point to observe and know all of the charges under her command but more because while he'd never believe it, she'd developed something of a soft spot for Carlton. He prided himself on his toughness and God knows there wasn't a tougher _cop_ out there, but as a man, he was far more vulnerable than anyone might imagine. Yet also stronger. Karen had watched as he'd struggled through his lengthy and extremely painful separation and eventual divorce, the two events bookended around the trauma of the Lucinda Barry affair and come out of both scarred, wary, yet still standing. She'd watched as he had slowly come to trust his very young, very inexperienced new partner, had watched that trust evolve into friendship, and watched as he slowly—and fighting all the way— fell in love with Juliet O'Hara.

That growing emotional attachment had worried her—a lot. And as with so much else in her life, the worry boiled down to two words: Shawn Spencer.

The memory of how viciously Shawn had exposed Carlton's relationship with Lucinda—a woman in whom he had no interest—remained all-too-fresh in her memory. If he ever _divined_ Carlton's feelings for Juliet, the man would make it his life's mission to make Carlton's life a living hell. More so than he already did. However, Karen was absolutely certain he hadn't a single clue. Mostly because there was absolutely _no_ way he was capable of keeping such knowledge to himself. To Spencer, Carlton's interest in Juliet would be fodder for public shaming of the highest order. He simply wouldn't be able to resist, if only to prove the ridiculousness of the concept on any level—at least, in _his_ limited worldview.

That understanding had finally moved her firmly into Carlton's camp of believing the man wasn't psychic, simply preternaturally observant when motivated and—given his incessant need for attention and incredibly developed skills for lying—also a deeply narcissistic, pathological sociopath. An opinion confirmed by a psychiatric evaluation—submitted voluntarily by of all people, Madeleine Spencer. Forewarned is forearmed, as it were.

End result, if Shawn Spencer wasn't working for the SBPD, it was entirely probable he would have become a con artist in the Pierre Despereaux mold except perhaps more dangerous, since Shawn was possessed of a mean streak Despereaux appeared to lack.

Illogical as it might seem, by keeping him employed, Karen was doing her duty—protecting the public at large from a dangerous menace.

It was possible things might have been different had Carlton made a decisive move after the clock tower when it appeared Juliet might have been on the verge of developing feelings for him as well, but he'd refrained. Karen knew he valued O'Hara's friendship above all else and the possibility of losing that one anchor in his life had to have been what kept him from doing anything that could have jeopardized that bond.

However, Carlton's act of chivalry, for that's exactly what it had been, had had the unfortunate side effect of laying the path clear for Spencer who'd swooped in and Juliet, so recently having experienced a brush with death and unwilling to leave any "What ifs" unexplored, had succumbed. Who knew? Maybe she had thought Carlton would still be there—and he might have been, had Marlowe not arrived on the scene—at first using him, but ultimately, needing him.

And if there was anything before which Carlton was powerless, it was a strong woman who nevertheless needed him.

Unfortunately for Marlowe, in the hierarchy of strong women in Carlton's life, Juliet had made her mark on his heart first. And in many ways, would always take precedence.

Whatever this most recent incident between them, though, had had the unfortunate result of driving Carlton even further into himself, but only in small subtle ways that weren't readily noticeable to those not looking beyond the surface. Given his general prickly, aloof demeanor, Karen was absolutely certain few in the workplace were even aware anything had changed with their Head Detective.

Just as she was absolutely certain the person closest to him was intensely aware of his increasing remoteness. While ordinarily O'Hara would have been first in line to cajole, tease, bully, humor or simply beat the source out of him and bring him back to a state resembling civil, his current state of withdrawal actually served her purposes quite well. If he was internalizing, then his attention was focused away from her.

Still, this state of affairs couldn't be maintained indefinitely. O'Hara would begin visibly showing—sooner rather than later—and Carlton would either put two and two together or more likely, given his wrongheaded, pessimistic, entirely _male_ tendencies, would assume it was Spencer's. Either way, he would be emotionally poleaxed and all hell would break loose. Especially if he went with the Spencer option. God help the idiot then, although come to think of it, Karen couldn't say she'd be in all that much of a hurry to disabuse Carlton of any misconceptions.

"O'Hara, my office."

Karen noted the combination of resignation and relief that crossed the other woman's features before she carefully schooled her face into a neutral mask. And in yet another sign of how thoroughly Carlton had retreated, his utter lack of a reaction to her summons of his partner. Normally so attuned to O'Hara the mere mention of her name would have him on alert, brows drawn together, assessing whether or not he needed to assume role of partner, protector, or both, he instead remained facing away from the bullpen, gaze focused on the window behind his desk ostensibly deep in thought and with such a foreboding air about him, even McNab would think twice before approaching.

Under most circumstances, O'Hara wouldn't hesitate to beard the lion in his den, but not today. Today she merely spared him a glance that expressed equal parts relief, unhappiness, and a clear, deep emotion that for Karen, provided definitive confirmation of a long-suspected theory.

Once Juliet entered her office, Karen steered her toward the sofa where she had mugs waiting on the table. Waiting only for O'Hara to settle herself and take a sip of tea, Karen asked, "Why haven't you told him?" with a pointed look through the slatted blinds towards the dark-and-silver head still facing away from them.

"I—"

Rather than wait for O'Hara to fumble for some patently false answer, Karen added, "He's the baby's father, Juliet, and your partner. Your best _friend_. So let me ask again, why haven't you told him?"

For long moments Juliet did nothing more than breathe deeply before passing a trembling hand over her face. Gaze resolutely cast down toward her mug, she quietly said, "I can't. Not yet."

"Why?" Karen was baffled.

"Because he once accused me of being cruel."

Karen's brows rose. "I beg your pardon?"

"Back when he was first involved with Marlowe, I tried to keep him from… seeing her."

Ah, yes... _that_. Juliet had been uncharacteristically moody and had gone to great lengths to find ways to keep Carlton from keeping his weekly Wednesday appointment at Lompoc. Things had come to a head when she'd insisted they follow a patently ridiculous lead provided by one of Shawn's "visions." That was when Karen had stepped in, advising Carlton to stage some sort of intervention because none of them knew how to handle a moody, irascible O'Hara. For Karen, the incident had served as her first indication that Juliet's feelings just _might_ run as deeply as Carlton's.

"I didn't even realize I was doing it," Juliet admitted with a sigh. "I'd only just recently come to understand how much Carlton meant to me—how much more he _could_ mean to me—but at the same time, everything with Shawn was still so new and we'd been dancing around it for so long and I felt as if I needed to give him a chance."

_Dear God, why?_

Karen dismissed her immediate knee-jerk reaction in favor of analyzing what Juliet was saying and much as she hated to admit it, she understood.

"And I guess I thought Carlton would always be there."

"And then he wasn't."

"And then he wasn't," Juliet echoed softly. "If I thought timing with Shawn had been bad—" A short bitter laugh escaped. "This was worse, because we acknowledged we loved each other, but we also knew if we were ever going to be together—for good—we had to follow each of our respective paths to their logical conclusions."

"Leave no unanswered questions," Karen guessed. The trait that made them such damned good detectives on the verge of costing them dearly on a personal level.

Another laugh escaped, this one tinged with a slight hint of hysteria. "You know, Carlton's so convinced Karma's a bitch and has it out for him, but I think he's got it all wrong."

Karen leaned forward and gently removed the mug from Juliet's white-knuckled grip before it shattered. "How's that?"

"Because somewhere deep inside, I already _knew_, Chief," she whispered, lacing her fingers together in lieu of having the mug. Clearly desperate to hold on to _something_. "I knew, even if on the outside I was trying to make more of it, that Shawn was only temporary. There's no way he would ever be ready for a permanent kind of relationship and there was no way he was the man I wanted for that sort of relationship."

Signs that she hadn't completely succumbed to madness at least. But Karen couldn't help but feel her heart break a little for Juliet.

"You could have fought for him."

"With Marlowe still in prison?" Juliet lifted a shoulder. "That would hardly have been fair now, would it? And do you really think if I'd thrown over Shawn and gone after Carlton before he had opportunity to see whether or not his relationship with Marlowe was real—especially in light of my behavior—he would have trusted it?"

"Of course he wouldn't." Karen sighed and spared another glance through the blinds at Carlton who'd finally moved, leaving his desk to wander over to O'Hara's, glancing around with the familiar frown bisecting his brows. They didn't have long.

"Then Henry got shot," she said, understanding that event had to have served as the catalyst. She also instinctively understood that whatever happened, had been an isolated incident. A momentary breach of the agreement they'd maintained for months.

Juliet nodded, what Karen now recognized as a fierce love, written clearly across her face.

"So now what?"

Juliet sat straight and squared her shoulders and in this position, jacket unbuttoned, Karen could barely discern the merest hint of a curve beneath the loose-fitting camisole. "Now what is that I'm going to request a leave of absence."

Karen released a slow breath, not in the slightest bit surprised. "Because of Marlowe's release." Delayed a bit, because of a few trips back to solitary that had added to her sentence, but for the past two weeks she'd been a free woman. Which could account for Carlton's withdrawal, especially if he were wrestling with feelings of guilt.

"Yeah." Juliet's gaze turned inward for a moment before shifting focus. Karen didn't have to follow it to know who she was seeking out. "It's one thing to acknowledge he deserves the opportunity to see his relationship with Marlowe through—to see if it's forever—but I can't… be here. Not right now."

Karen sympathized, but _still_—this was Carlton's child. Being carried by a woman she _knew_ he loved, at least on some level. "You're walking a dangerous line, Juliet. It's his baby, too, and he deserves to know."

Juliet's hand went to her abdomen. "I have no intention of keeping him from his baby. I will tell him. It just can't be now."

"The longer you wait, though—"

"Don't you think I know?" Juliet's voice held a note of anguish Karen had never heard from her, not even in that terrified phone call while strapped to the top of the clock tower. "He may never forgive me for not telling him right away, but he might also never forgive me for destroying his relationship with Marlowe. Because you know him, Chief. You know if I went out there and told him this second, he'd be compelled to do the right thing by his code of conduct. And what happens then? Whatever feelings he has for me die every time he looks at me and our baby, knowing what we cost him? I _can't_."

Unshed tears turned her eyes a deep, brilliant blue. "I want him," she whispered, "but not by default."

_Always resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty…_

The quote flitted in and out of Karen's mind with ease. Damn Jane Austen and her sense and sensibilities that described both Juliet and Carlton entirely too well. Just as quickly, however, another quote surfaced:

_It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others._

Well, Janie, they were about to put that theory to the test right here in the decidedly not-Regency confines of the SBPD, weren't they?

"How long do you expect to need?"

"I… don't know." Juliet spared another glance through the blinds. "I don't even know where I'm going to go, other than it has to be far the hell away from here. If I was on better terms with my family, I might go to Miami for a few weeks, but…"

Silently Karen cursed the O'Hara clan—honestly, they needed to let it _go_ already. But if they wouldn't step up to the plate, then by God, she would. Juliet was under her command and that made her family.

"I hear Hawaii's lovely this time of year."

Juliet spared her a watery smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Karen leaned forward and put her hand over Juliet's tightly clasped ones. "Lot of remote places where the outside world can't intrude unless you allow it."

"That sounds…nice."

"I'll email you some suggestions and approve you for a month's leave, effective immediately." She met Juliet's gaze squarely. "I trust that'll be sufficient?"

At Juliet's silent nod, she stood and crossed to the windows. A moment later, Juliet joined her and together they watched as Carlton strode down the hall, pausing to speak with McNab, then Dobson, and Miller, clearly questioning and not liking the answers he was receiving judging by the increasing darkening of his features. Finally at Booking, Allen gave him the answer he wanted—turning, he headed unhesitatingly for Karen's office.

"You _have_ to give him a chance." Last ditch effort, perhaps, but she'd never forgive herself if she didn't try.

She couldn't say she was surprised, however, when Juliet's response was simply a quiet, "That's exactly what I'm doing, Chief."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_She emerged into the waiting area, clad in jeans and the dark red sweater he'd bought her as a surprise along with a pair of flats from her personal effects that he'd had boxed up after her incarceration and put in storage. He smiled and forced a deep breath past the bands surrounding his chest. Seeing her in something other than prison orange for the first time in close to a year—it felt like seeing her for the first time._

_Her face lit up as she spotted him waiting in the holding area—a concession granted in deference to his position as Head Detective. _

_"Carlton!"_

_"Hey Marlowe."_

_She gave him a smile and a brief touch of her hand to his cheek before she turned her attention to signing release forms, accepting her personal effects, and being issued the check of monies accrued during her work stints. After acknowledging she was aware she had to contact her parole officer within twenty-four hours and that she was not permitted to leave the state, she gathered her things and walked toward him, another smile wreathing her pretty features. A bit less exuberant than he might have expected, but then, they were surrounded by prison personnel and if there was anything they'd wanted, almost more than anything else for the past year, it had been privacy._

_Last thing he wanted was their welcome to be observed by a bunch of nosy-assed guards and the prisoners allowed to work in the office. _

_Outside, she strode unhesitatingly through the gates only pausing when they finally slid shut behind her with a decisive clang. Closing her eyes, she raised her face and breathed deep, the sun gilding her skin with a rosy glow. Even though every day had brought with it an hour in the yard, no doubt the air tasted completely different beyond the gate's perimeters, the heat of the sun feeling even warmer and more comforting._

_She'd done what she needed to do and paid the price and Carlton knew she had no regrets, other than the fact that it had kept them from being together. _

_Well, that was about to change._

_At his car, he took her belongings from her, carefully stored them in the back seat, then turned to take her in his arms, free to hold her for the first time since he'd arrested her._

_He sighed as her arms came around his waist and she squeezed him tight before turning her face up to him, much like as she'd turned it up to the sun. Unhesitatingly, he found her mouth with his, kissing hard and deep, the embers of what they'd had flickering to life deep within._

_After several moments she pulled back, a curious smile on her face as she touched her lips with her fingers._

_"Welcome home." He tightened his arms around her waist and smiled, his heart hammering in his chest. "You hungry?"_

_She smiled and touched his cheek again, her touch impossibly gentle and making his heart beat even harder, leaving him short of breath, as if he'd just finished a marathon. _

_"Famished."_

_After another quick kiss—just an innocent brush of lips really—he helped her into the car and rounded the front to the driver's side. As he headed away from the prison for the last time ever—at least in this capacity—he felt himself consumed by a combination of relief, nervousness, anticipation, and because he was him… dread._

_"Anywhere you want to go—fast food or five star. If you want to go home and change first, we can do that, but I figured you really wouldn't be up for anything overwhelming and I even have stuff at home that I can fix for us if you'd rather—"_

_"Carlton—" Her hand lit on his forearm, serving to stem the nervous flow of words. "Five star is definitely not necessary. Why don't we just find somewhere near the beach? I'd really like to smell the sea air again—listen to the waves."_

_He turned to look at her as he pulled onto the freeway, practically able to navigate the journey in his sleep as often as he'd made this trip. She met his curious gaze with the enigmatic smile that had so entranced him from that life-changing first moment in the bar, then turned to gaze out the window with a wistful expression that made him hurt deep inside._

_The beach. Of course._

_It made perfect sense. What other place could simultaneously represent both freedom and security? Serenity and wildness?_

_He fought back the memory of where he'd first heard that description and instead smiled and nodded and put forth several suggestions of where they might go. They settled on a seafood place at Hendry's Beach, adjacent to one of the state parks, so outside of the quiet bustle of the restaurant itself, there was little to get in the way of enjoying their surroundings as they sat at a table on the expansive patio._

_They talked easily over their meal, hands occasionally glancing against each other, meeting every so often in a brief clasp. They discussed Marlowe's plans—she'd begun taking college classes while inside and thought she might want to become a librarian._

_"Not enough public service in your life with me being a cop?" he joked._

_She smiled. "It's quiet. And like you, will let me help people."_

_"I'd think you would've had your fill of that after spending your whole life taking care of Adrian."_

_"This would be different," she said around bites of cheesecake. "And besides, I am good at it."_

_He smiled and sipped his coffee. "Of that I have absolutely no doubt."_

_After he paid the check, they walked on the beach for a while, occasionally holding hands, but every so often, Marlowe would break free and wander to the water's edge where she let the waves wash over her bare feet. The sun was beginning to sink beyond the horizon when she turned to face him and smiled and it was such a wide, lovely smile, so full of promise and resolution, Carlton once again felt his heart hurt. _

_"Carlton—"_

_He began walking toward her but paused at the slight shake of her head._

_"What is it?"_

_"This isn't going to work."_

_The small, hollow pit with which he'd awakened this morning—that he'd tried to dismiss as nothing more than nerves and anticipation that after so long, this was __**it**__, but whose roots ran far deeper and well did he know it—grew until it felt like it was trying to swallow him whole._

_"What do you mean?"_

_But he knew. What's worse, was Marlowe knew._

_"You've been so sweet to me, so completely devoted, and I really hoped that things would work out—but we both know things have been… different for a while now."_

_He wanted to argue. To protest. He was so damned good at it, but… but… yeah. Things had been different. He could pinpoint it to the date. To the hour. If asked, he knew he'd be able to recall the exact minute everything had changed. He'd just thought, with his ability to compartmentalize, that it would have been locked away behind a wall. Exist in a vacuum where it couldn't touch the rest of his life because he simply couldn't allow it to. It would be against all the silent rules they'd sworn to follow._

_Guess there had been cracks in the seal, though._

_"Do you know you haven't told me you love me for months now?"_

_The hollowness grew. "That's not true."_

_"It is." She took a few steps toward him, then turned and dropped to sit on the sand. "I'd say it and you'd smile and you'd say, 'me too' but you haven't said the actual words for a long time. And maybe the words wouldn't matter so much if I felt it from you—the way I used to—but yeah…" She glanced back over her shoulder and her gaze was equal parts hurt and resigned. "That changed, too."_

_He scrubbed a hand across his face and dropped to sit beside her._

_"Marlowe—you and I—it's just… we've been looking forward to this for so long. And now you're out and everything must feel different. I don't think you can make a decision like this without giving it an honest shot. Giving it—giving us—time."_

_Because he'd insisted they needed time and he'd be damned if he didn't see it through._

_Marlowe reached out and took his hand in hers and finally, he allowed himself to acknowledge that yeah, it felt different._

_"Oh, Carlton—I've spent a lifetime shackled to Adrian and his needs and the better part of a year in prison. I would have given you the rest of my life if I thought you wanted it, but I can't help but feel as if for the past few months, you've just been treading water. Waiting for… something—some sort of sign, maybe. And maybe you honestly thought that something was me—the me who _wasn't_ shackled to Adrian and who _wasn't_ in prison—but really, I don't think it is. "_

_Her hand tightened on his. "And I'm sorry, but the absolute last thing I'm willing to give up right now—" Her free hand rose to cup his cheek. "Is time."_

* * *

He should have been devastated. At the very least, upset. Okay... cold as it sounded, he _really _should have been relieved.

Instead, he was irrationally pissed off. This was _not_ the way things were supposed to go.

Despite their moment out of time—their one perfect, magical moment—Juliet had still been with Spencer and he'd been with Marlowe and what had happened between them wasn't real. It was the product of stress and fear and anger and desperation. They couldn't trust it. They had to get back to their normal lives and let things happen the way they were meant.

She'd agreed. Or at least she'd nodded and said she understood he needed time. That she wouldn't make unfair requests—she'd done it once before and she'd sworn she wouldn't do it again.

Things had to happen the way they were meant.

And she had kept her promise. With a grace and quiet dignity that had jabbed at his heart more painfully with each passing day. But he'd forced himself to compartmentalize—to build walls that would keep him from doing anything stupid. That would allow things to happen the way they were meant.

But was this how things were meant to happen? Like this? How could it be?

It didn't make sense.

Because if he went to Juliet now—told her what had happened with Marlowe—she would never forgive herself. And that guilt would eat her alive and hurt them. But how could he go to her—_be_ with her—with_out_ telling her what had happened with Marlowe?

The final element of the equation—Spencer—didn't concern him. For once. Far as he was concerned, the asshat had abdicated his relationship with Juliet the moment he'd disappeared without a word. Honestly, she hadn't even been that broken up about it—at least not about the apparent dissolution of their relationship. She'd been more angry on Henry's behalf—worried that it would set his recovery back. But the elder Spencer was too used to his idiot son for it to do much more than elevate his blood pressure slightly—and only for a few days. Truth was, she'd been more agitated since he'd returned.

Carlton made a mental note to assign a tail to Spencer—make certain he wasn't harassing Juliet unduly.

It was the only thing he could do—look out for her. Be her friend. Be her lover in the truest sense of the word. The way it meant the most.

Maybe… eventually… taking each day as it came, they could grow closer and ultimately, they could be together.

He fought his way from the fog of this thoughts to find that he'd pulled into his spot at the SBPD. It was happening more and more, lately—so lost in his thoughts he had little recollection of doing… anything. He'd find himself sitting beside a pile of freshly folded laundry or closing the door on the dishwasher he'd just loaded with no memory of having prepared or eaten a meal or pulling into his parking space at the police department. In fact, the only time he felt completely alert and with it, his attention focused on the job at hand, was when he was at work.

When he was with Juliet.

Taking a deep breath, and smelling fresh coffee, he left the car, ventis he'd apparently stopped to pick up in hand. Inside, he set them both on his desk, if only because it gave him a viable excuse to approach her the moment she came in. Not that he needed a viable excuse. They were partners. He could talk to her any damned time he wanted. But he knew the compartmentalization he'd employed of late had also had the unfortunate side effect of creating distance between them. Distance he wasn't sure how to breach without completely busting down the damned walls and taking her in his arms and never letting go.

So he stuck to the tried and true—and nothing was more tried and true between them than coffee. Especially good coffee. Although come to think of it, lately she hadn't seemed all that excited by even good coffee. She smile wanly and take a sip or two and when she got coffee for them, he'd noticed that more and more, she appeared to be drinking tea.

He kept meaning to ask, but then she'd cast him one of those grave looks, the deep emotion that spoke to the same in him banked within the dark blue, and the question would die before it could fully form.

Still, morning coffee had been their ritual for seven years and he hung onto those little bits of normal with the desperation of a drowning man hanging onto a rope.

He strode into the bullpen, whistling softly below his breath and feeling better with each step. At his desk, he went through the routine of hanging up his jacket, rolling up his sleeves, turning on his computer, basically making certain he was ready to face anything the day might bring. The routine, however, would only be fully complete when O'Hara arrived, ready to take her place by his side.

Then, he could face anything the day might bring and beat the ever loving hell out of it. With authority.

He began skimming files, sipping from one of the coffees, idly keeping an eye—an ear—even a nose, because only O'Hara carried that intoxicating combination of vanilla and lavender and fresh air about her—out. Generally, he beat her in by fifteen minutes, but today, fifteen minutes came and went as he sipped slowly. Sipped slower still as another fifteen minutes passed. Pushed the cup away and tapped a pencil against his blotter as he pretended to study a file but in reality, watched the minutes tick by on his computer's clock.

Checked it against the clock on the wall.

Checked it against his watch.

Checked it against his cell phone.

Pulled up an internet window and checked his computer and the wall clock and his watch and his cell phone against Greenwich Mean Time at the Royal Observatory.

This exercise in futility killed another fifteen minutes and rendered O'Hara officially late. At least checking his cell phone allowed him to check his text messages.

Nothing.

Check his email—both personal and work.

Nothing.

Tapping the pencil in ever-increasing agitation, he glanced over at Juliet's desk. Everything was as always, neat and orderly, small tokens that reminded her of people or places off to one side along with a couple of framed pictures. Nevertheless, there hovered around the area an unexpected air of desolation. Without her there it was just… a desk.

Unbidden, he stood and crossed to it, hoping to find some sign of why she might be late. He wouldn't dream of invading her personal space—not like Spencer—but he knew she had a habit of leaving her day planner open on her desk. In case she forgot to tell him about a court appointment or some other event that would keep her from… well, from _him_, dammit.

The book lay open as expected to the current week—but before he took a closer look, his attention was captured by one of the photographs carefully arranged to the left of her blotter. A picture of the two of them at the last department picnic, flying a kite. Well, Juliet had been flying the kite, a large silk dragon with a massive wingspan, until the winds had picked up, threatening to yank her arms from the sockets because stubborn woman, there was no way she was letting it go. Spencer had had his face buried—literally—in a cherry pie, so Carlton had rushed over and embraced her from behind putting his hands over hers while she braced her back against his chest. Together, they'd slowly regained control of the beast and it was then the photographer had captured them—a perfect moment, flush with victory. She was smiling up at him, all gold, windblown hair and fierce victory, pure joy written in her smile while he'd grinned down, everything in his body language, at least to him, declaring _mine_. _This woman is mine_.

Right. If only he'd actually trusted his instincts.

Chest aching at how stupid he'd been—at how often he'd been stupid, but not anymore, dammit—he replaced the picture and returned his attention to the date book. He skimmed the pages, an easy task since there was nothing written on them other than a cryptic 14 inscribed and circled in the upper left corner. Before he could dwell on it overmuch, however, his attention was captured by the Chief's approach.

The one person who might know _something_.

"Chief!"

She looked up from unlocking her office door. "Good morning, Detective."

"Uh… yeah. Good morning."

With another glance back toward Juliet's desk he followed her into her office, waiting while she put her things down. Finally, she hit him with a pointed stare. "Yes, Detective?"

"Have you heard from O'Hara?"

Her brows drew together. "No. Should I have?"

"I… guess not." He found himself looking back toward her desk once more. Making certain that she hadn't snuck in during the thirty seconds he'd been talking to the Chief. Nope. The desk remained as deserted as ever. He could almost imagine cobwebs forming. "It's just that she's late."

Karen appeared remarkably unconcerned as she stored her weapon and badge in her desk. "No she's not."

Carlton looked up at the clock on Karen's wall and discreetly checked it against his watch. "Uh—"

"She's on leave, Carlton."

The blood rushed from his head so rapidly, he felt an immediate ringing in his ears. Through the tinny, white noise he heard himself asking faintly, "She's what?"

"On leave. She made the request yesterday and I approved it."

He sank into the nearest chair, hanging onto the arms as if it might keep him from sliding to the floor in a graceless heap. Because the Head damned Detective did not slide to the floor, gracelessly or otherwise. No matter how boneless and utterly lacking in oxygen he felt.

"Yesterday?"

When she'd been in the Chief's office, talking to her at length, from what he'd been able to gather. When she'd emerged, she had _seemed_ fine. Or as fine as she'd been for the past few months, which was to say a bit grave, a bit remote, but still there. Still with him.

She'd given no indication that she'd asked for leave. Had just gone about the rest of their day until it was quitting time when she'd gathered her things, much like any other day, and allowed him to walk her to her car, much like any other day.

The only thing that had been different had been at her car—pausing for just a moment and looking up at him.

_"Goodnight, Carlton."_

_"Night, Juliet." On the job it was still O'Hara—always O'Hara—but when they were alone, it was always Juliet. Something that was theirs alone. A tiny, infinitesimal way in which he could be with her._

_"See you."_

_"Yeah, see you tomorrow."_

She'd said "see you." Not "see you tomorrow." And her hand had brushed against his, fingers curling maybe ever so slightly around his before she climbed into her car and smiled again as she drove off.

Saying goodbye.

"Detective, wait!"

Karen's sharp summons brought him to a halt by the door, fingers clutching the jamb.

"She's not at home."

Slowly he turned to face her once more. "Well, then… where is she?"

She had both hands braced on her desk "I'm not at liberty to say."

"You're not at liberty to—" A bitter laugh escaped as he shoved a hand through his hair. "What the hell, Karen. Not at liberty to say? What does that even mean?"

"It means," she said slowly, "that she doesn't want to be found." Holding his gaze, she added in a tone both gentle and deliberate, "It means _she_ needs time, too. And space."

Karen's gaze took on an unmistakable air of sympathy and right then, Carlton understood that she knew what had happened between them. Or at least, that something _had_.

Frankly, he didn't give a rat's ass that she knew and he sure as hell didn't need her sympathy. He just needed Juliet. His Juliet.

Who'd left because she thought he was with Marlowe.

Juliet had left because she thought it was the right thing to do...

For him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_"O'Hara."_

_She kept her head down, eyes burning as she studied the files. Again. Looking for something… anything… they might have missed the first thirty times around. Or forty. She'd lost count._

_"O'Hara—" Sharper now, but he damn well knew that voice had ceased having its intended effect on her years ago. Maybe everyone else could be intimidated by the Lassiter bark, but not her. She knew what lay behind._

_All too well._

_And yet not well enough._

_"You need to stop."_

_"I can't."_

_"You have to."_

_Without looking up, she pushed at his chest, sending him stumbling back a step from where he'd come to lean over her at the conference table. That looming trick didn't work worth a damn with her either. At least not in any way that frightened her other than in how very conscious it made her of him. _

_"I _can't_, Carlton."_

_Undeterred, he resumed his position looming over her with the added benefit of slamming a hand over the file she was trying to read. Emphasis on trying. Because everything was blurring into a jumble of symbols and black lines and statements that made absolutely no sense and neglected to provide a single goddamned clue as to where Jerry Carp might have disappeared to after he cold-bloodedly shot his close friend and former partner in the chest at point-blank range._

_Carlton's hand gripped her shoulder forcing her to look up into his intent gaze. Even red-rimmed and ringed with dark circles, the blue stood out, searing and fierce. _

_"We're going to get this son of a bitch, O'Hara. You know we are. But we can't do it if we're operating at anything less than peak efficiency. We've been going for nearly forty hours straight. We both need a break."_

_She knew that. She knew he was right. But she should be able to continue to operate at peak efficiency. For something like this, she should be able to push past the exhaustion and the fear and the anger—discover untapped reserves. _

_"Shawn's not taking a break." She didn't think. She knew he'd ignored her directive to sit the case out, despite his assurances that he would. Why she'd imagined he would listen to her, she had no idea. Not as if he'd ever done it before—not even when it was something with the power to hurt her—like shoving her father back into her life. To think he would listen to her now... _

_Yeah, she'd been a naive idiot. Again._

_Carlton lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, and he's a Red Bull and Froot Loop-fueled idiot who's probably endangering half of Santa Barbara in the process. Besides, it's his father." His voice softened into something approximating sympathy—at least as much as she'd ever heard him express for Shawn. "We're cops. That's not how _we_ operate."_

_"But it _is_ Henry." And she hated how weak her voice sounded. She wanted to think she'd be this driven if it was anyone, but she knew that was a lie. There was only one other person for whom she'd drive herself this hard. Harder still._

_"I know." He straightened and pulled her from the chair, his warm hands cupped beneath her elbows as if knowing she needed that extra bit of support. "And if there's anything Henry is, it's a cop. Which is why he'd expect—not to mention, deserve—us at our best."_

_Juliet felt herself swaying, exhaustion and a steady diet of coffee leaving her lightheaded. Giving in, she allowed her head to come to rest on Carlton's chest, sighing as she felt one hand gently stroke her hair._

_"I'm taking you home."_

_"Okay." It was as if by allowing herself to physically lean on him what fight remained simply drained away, leaving room to feel his quiet strength and resolve as well as the exhaustion cloaking him. He'd pushed himself every bit as hard—not simply because it was Henry, but because it offended his ironclad officer's code of conduct that another cop had done this. Had betrayed friendship, loyalty, his oath, and the badge in the most base and reprehensible of ways._

_Carlton's car was dark and quiet and it would have been so easy for Juliet to allow herself to drift, the traffic lights and occasional headlights streaming past in a gritty, hypnotic blur. Instead, she found herself talking. Not the bright, chirpy, couldn't-stand-to-hear-silence-wanted-to-get-to-know-her-inscrutable-partner chatter of years gone by, but a simple, quiet observation she could share only with him._

_"He's obsessed, Carlton. To the point of shutting himself off from everyone and everything. It's like he's convinced only he can find Jerry Carp. Or maybe that only he deserves to find Carp."_

_The car's interior remained quiet outside of the muffled, sibilant hush of tires against asphalt and Carlton's steady breathing._

_"You're trying not to say something."_

_"Yeah."_

_"You know you can tell me anything."_

_He spared her a quick glance, intense silver blue even in the dark. "Can and should are two different things, Juliet."_

_Warmth suffused her at his use of her given name. Very rarely during the work day did he ever allow himself to use it, but when they were by themselves—also a rare occurrence of late—he would allow it to slip free, the syllables emerging with a low intimacy that wound around her and made her feel… safe. Cherished. _

_Not for the first time did she curse her own idiocy at agreeing they needed time after the first moment she realized what they could be. Clear as day, she could hear Carlton—_

...you don't do this because it's easy. You do it because you _have_ to. Because there's absolutely nothing else you can see yourself doing. Because there's no one else you can see yourself with.

You're not there yet, Juliet.

_And he'd been right. She thought. _

_He had to be right. Right? _

_But it had been before he met Marlowe. And she'd naively assumed he'd be there—waiting—after she got Shawn out of her system, which she suspected would be sooner rather than later. _

_But it hadn't been soon enough._

_They still had each other though. Every day. In ways both large and small, their trust in each other absolute. Juliet knew that even after Marlowe was released, she would still have more of Carlton than anyone else and selfishly, she was glad._

_She wasn't proud of that particular personality trait, but she would own it. At least if she was aware of it, it might keep her from behaving in as damaging a manner as she had before. Because that _would_ cost her what she had of Carlton. _

_And she couldn't._

_Especially now._

_At her door she looked up at him. "Tell me."_

_His shoulders slumped beneath the dark wool of his suit jacket. With a nod, he indicated she should open the door. A weight like a massive stone dropped into the pit of her belly. He wouldn't answer because he was protecting her. As much as he didn't sugarcoat the truth or treat her like a hothouse flower in any other of their everyday interactions, it seemed as if where Shawn was concerned, he'd made some sort of promise to himself. For her._

_But he surprised her. Shedding his jacket, he dropped onto her sofa and leaned his head against the back with a tired sigh. Closing his eyes, he waited until he felt her take a seat beside him, then quietly said, "It's not any different from any other case, Juliet, except this one has a slightly more personal component. The simple truth is, Shawn has _always_ believed he's the best—the only—person who can possibly solve a crime. Without fail, he has consistently interfered with and undermined our work—belittled us privately and publicly—in an effort to prove he's unequivocally smarter and better than all of us."_

_He turned his head and opened his eyes, the expression in them ineffably sad… and angry. "It's always been important to me to solve as many cases as possible—" He rubbed his forehead, clearly weary beyond measure. "It's my _job_, one to which I've dedicated myself to at the expense of… hell, a lot. But it's a job I'm damned good at and I have an honest desire to serve the city I work for. Shawn only lives to serve himself—at the expense of everyone else."_

_It wasn't her imagination that his voice dropped further on the word "everyone." The one thing he refrained from saying—that "everyone" included her as well. The Thane Woodson case wasn't so far removed, however, that she couldn't recall Shawn's smug condescension that she'd made an error—had sent an innocent man to jail—and it would be up to him to "fix" it._

_She didn't say anything. There wasn't a damned thing she could say that wouldn't reveal her as a fool. So damned foolish to have given him as many chances as she had. That she had given him a chance at all. And the last thing she wanted was Carlton's pity._

_"Juliet, don't—"_

_The brush of his skin against hers—the helpless look he cast at the damp sheen smeared across the pad of his thumb—made her aware of the tears. She swiped the backs of her hands against her cheeks and took in a shuddering breath, attempting to regain control. But the damned tears wouldn't stop—a slow, steady trickle, like a faucet whose washer had finally worn through and that no tightening would fix._

_"I didn't mean to make you cry."_

_She met his gaze, read in the ocean blue the obvious concern and superseding even the concern, the love. So powerful, it left her breathless, not simply from the strength of the love itself, but from the strength of the man bearing it. _

_She had been such a fool. _

_To ever doubt._

_To not take that chance._

_To not realize there wasn't anyone else she could see herself with._

_"_You_ didn't make me cry."_

_His sigh was long and deep as he reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, using the handkerchief he drew from his pocket with the other to dab gently at the tears and when that wasn't enough, leaning in and touching his lips to her skin._

_"Carlton—"_

_She wanted to say they shouldn't. They couldn't. But she was just so tired and she couldn't lie to herself and above all, she could _not_ lie to this man. Not now._

_"Can you do this?" She held his face between her hands, her thumb tracing the line of his mouth, damp with her tears. Looked deep into the eyes that could hide so much, but that couldn't lie—not to her._

_Endless moments passed as he studied her as intently as she studied him._

_"It's the only thing I can do."_

_From there it was so easy and so perfect. There was no sweeping her off her feet and carrying her off to her bedroom—no succumbing right there on the couch or frantic writhing on the floor. There was just a simple, quiet acceptance punctuated with a gentle kiss., Carlton standing and offering her his hand, Juliet leading them to her room where they slowly undressed each other, mouths and hands exploring, yet sure with the knowing. _

_Carlton's body was every mystery and none at all. She'd known how he'd feel beneath her touch, her mouth. Had known how his touch would feel, yet shivered beneath the newness of each caress. Knew the shape and weight of him and welcomed him into her time and again. In the dark of that single night that seemed to go on forever and not long enough, it was simply her and Carlton._

_The _only_ way it could be._

* * *

She used to welcome dawn, Juliet thought as she lay in bed and watched the sun's slow ascent over the ocean, delicate tendrils of rose-gold light piercing the pearl gray as if reaching out to draw the curtains back on a brand new day. A new beginning—everything fresh and clean, a blank slate on which to draw new designs.

She hated it now. Because it had been dawn and the light it cast on their reality that had brought with it goodbye.

These days, she was far more welcoming of night where she could sink back into the memories, could lull herself into a deep sleep where she could feel Carlton's arms around her, his low voice telling her again and again how much he loved her.

It was at night where she allowed herself to hope.

As if in response, a soft flutter batted against her side, settling only when she turned away from the east facing windows and toward the expanse of glass facing the west, still dusky and tinted a deep blue gray. The color of Carlton's eyes when he was deep in thought or worried or exceptionally tired.

It would appear the alien didn't care much for dawn either.

"Your daddy's a bit of a night owl, too," she murmured. "But he also gets up at the crack of dawn to go running. Truth is, like a lot of cops, he doesn't sleep enough."

She didn't want to dwell on whether or not he might be getting more sleep—or not—of late. The promise she'd made herself the moment the plane had left Santa Barbara was that she would not overthink, she would not dwell, she would not create scenarios over which she had absolutely no control. This time was for her and the baby—time for calm and nurturing—both emotionally and physically. To that end, she'd arrived in Oahu sans computer, phone, _anything_ that might allow Carlton to contact her—since she knew at the very least he'd be furious at her sudden disappearance—or tempt her to break down in turn. Outside of a single call to Karen Vick upon her arrival, letting her know she was fine, she'd isolated herself from her old life completely.

The fluttering remained quiet as she spoke. A habit she'd fallen into from the first moment she'd felt it, the week before—her third on the North Shore of Oahu. Quiet and peaceful, the perfect refuge for her heart and mind. She'd walked the beaches and made the acquaintance of sea turtles and feasted on all manner of fresh tropical fruits—although not pineapples. God, no. Even after her morning sickness had waned, the very idea of pineapples still left her intensely queasy.

Talk about a sign.

Pineapples aside, however, she'd never physically felt—or looked—better. She'd never really given much thought to what kind of pregnant woman she might be. If she'd ever considered it, it had been in the abstract, with the primary thought being as long as the baby was healthy, nothing else mattered. Turned out, however, that wretched morning sickness aside, she was one of those women whom pregnancy suited, skin and hair burnished by the sun, the daily walks in the sea air leaving her glowing with good health.

Juliet could only hope that the obvious care she'd taken of herself—of their baby—would help soften the blow when she returned in a few days' time.

Initially she'd thought maybe she wouldn't even bother returning. She could just stay, after all—be a cop here and raise her baby in this magical place, far away from the madness and even further from the pain she knew she'd feel if Carlton had decided that what he wanted was a life with Marlowe. She'd never admit it to anyone except maybe Carlton, but truth was, she wasn't as strong as he was. She couldn't bear witness to the life that might have been hers. Better to just disappear and hope in time, she could forget.

Even as quickly as that thought had flitted into her mind though, she'd just as quickly dismissed it. She couldn't do that to Carlton—disappear without a word—and besides, how could she even imagine she could forget him? Forget what they'd had or what they could have had? For one thing, she would have the constant reminder of a moment that not only did she not regret, but that she had no interest in forgetting, ever. Besides—the simple truth was she missed him so damned much. As much as she'd needed this time away, she'd missed every cranky, awkward, loving inch of Carlton Lassiter with everything she had, desperate for night to come so she could sink back into the welcome embrace of her memories.

She needed to see him. Even if he was furious with her, which she had no doubt he would be—the scowl pulling his dark eyebrows down into the straight line, bisected by the deep slash, his eyes turned that stormy hurt blue—she needed to see him.

Whatever happened, she needed to see him—at least one more time.

Slowly, she smoothed the thin cotton of her camisole over her small, yet obviously rounded belly.

Whatever happened, she needed to let him see her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**AN:** If the beginning seems a bit familiar, it's because I'm cribbing shamelessly from one of the Slumber Party skits, just turning the line a bit on its ear.

* * *

"Good God, Lassie, what's that… _thing_ on your face? You decide to throw your hat into the ring for the Competitive Beard Growing Circuit or something?"

"Spencer—" Carlton barely paused to spare the asshat a glance as he strode up the steps of the SBPD. "Can I just say how very much I have _not_ missed these little meetings?"

"Seriously, Lassie—what's with the backwoods, grizzly man look?"

"I was undercover," Carlton answered shortly.

Since a week after Juliet had disappeared without a word, refusing to answer her phone or emails or texts or any damned thing and Karen staunchly refusing to tell him where she was or how long she'd be gone or hell, _anything_, even after he'd confessed the dissolution of his relationship with Marlowe. He'd stopped short of saying he absolutely, desperately needed to speak to Juliet—to _see_ her—but he'd tacitly understood he hadn't needed to because Karen already knew. Not that it had swayed her a damned bit.

A shadow had passed across her face and she'd expressed genuine sympathy but dammit, he didn't need sympathy. He needed Juliet. But the more he'd growled and snarled and stormed around the department, terrorizing anyone who dared come within range, the more Karen had dug in her heels. She might have resorted to suspending his bad-tempered ass just to get him out of her hair and in the interests of keeping the rest of the department safe—not to mention, keep him from potentially abusing police resources in order to track Juliet down which he'd been dangerously close to doing—if the case he'd just wrapped hadn't fallen into their laps.

A dude ranch experiencing pranks that had rapidly escalated to increasingly menacing vandalism. The local police were beside themselves—nothing they did was helping and they were a small force to begin with. They'd asked on the state wires for assistance—an experienced cop who could ride, fish, and essentially blend with the culture. Next thing Carlton knew, Karen had "volunteered" him, all but offering to pack him a bag and a cooler for the trip.

Frankly, he'd had been relieved. Up north, nestled in the shadow of Marble Mountain, the ranch was secluded and far away from Santa Barbara and everything that reminded him of Juliet.

At least in theory.

It wasn't as if he could actually _not_ think of her. Aside from the fact that he'd nicked the picture of the two of them flying the kite from her desk—if she returned before he did, he'd find _some_ way to explain it, like blaming it on Spencer—she was everywhere with him as he settled into life as one of the ranch hands where his natural reserve was accepted as a norm. God help him, he'd even overheard some of the idiot tourists up to experience a taste of "true Americana" refer to his taciturn responses and remoteness as "charming." Annoyed as he was, however, he couldn't help but think how amusing Juliet would have found that observation. How she'd tease and needle him until he found some damned way to laugh at it.

As it was, there hadn't been much cause for laughing. Not without her there.

So he'd immersed himself in work, riding and fishing for hours with guests, keeping an eye out for any clues to their case, and always, always thinking of Juliet. Thought how much she'd enjoy the wide-open spaces bracketed by mountains, and the clean, clear rivers with their abundant wildlife, and the lush natural landscapes bisected by trails so quiet it felt like he was the only person in the world. As hard as he worked—both as a ranch hand and a cop, he still managed to carve out time, usually at twilight, to take a ride by himself where he would allow himself to _not_ think of ranch work or cop work or anything that wasn't about what lived in the deepest recesses of his heart and psyche.

It was during those rides he achieved a measure of peace. He _had_ given himself a chance with Marlowe—as much as he was able—however there remained a single, inescapable truth: it was a chance he shouldn't have _ever_ taken. What he _should_ have done, from the very first moment he'd realized Juliet might share his feelings, was fight for her. Encourage her impulse to explore what they had, insist that what they had was more real and more lasting than anything she would ever have with Spencer because he could give her something the other man never could—himself. All of him—every flaw, every fault, every positive attribute, every secret, every bit of his battered, scarred heart. Whatever she wanted, he would give it to her without reservation.

But he'd been a coward. Until the one night his fears had been shattered by one simple need. Juliet had needed him. And he'd given himself to her and taken all she had to give and had hated that dawn had brought with it the reality and the choices they'd made and had to see through.

_'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all._

Freakin' Tennyson. But the poetic limey bastard had a point.

He would rather have the memories of that one perfect night, even if they'd ultimately driven Juliet away because of what she imagined he needed, than to have never known what it was like to hold her in his arms. To kiss every inch of her body and to feel her wrapped around him as closely and intimately as it was possible.

For some people, reliving those memories might be torture—for him, it was a benediction. It's why he saved it for dusk—that crystalline moment suspended between light and dark—leaving the cares of the day behind and welcoming the endless possibility of night.

Ironically, it was due to those twilight rides, actively trying not to think of work, that he'd wound up breaking the case. Discovered traces of the mischief-makers and followed the clues back to a new, neighboring ranch. That was apparently being bankrolled by a Tahoe casino owner with a questionable "family" lineage of the Sicilian variety. The dude ranch was a gift to his idiot son—a venture ostensibly to help him get his "feet wet" with respect to running a business, but in reality, to get him the hell out of Tahoe and the drug and weapons charges sure to catch up to him if he didn't learn how to handle his affairs more discreetly.

Instead, the moron had thought to make a success of his new venture by muscling the decades old family-run Moonlake Ranch out of business and buying it up at a steal.

He'd thought.

He hadn't bargained on a grumpier-than-usual-and-loaded-for-bear Carlton Lassiter. And because Junior was the sort of true idiot that _almost_ left Carlton grateful for Spencer's brand of idiocy, since it was at least of the competent variety, he'd also had the spectacularly bad idea to try to run drugs and weapons between the ranch and Tahoe. Which made it a multi-state case that brought in the Nevada authorities as well as the FBI.

Junior'd never known what hit him. Other than Carlton's fist to his surgically altered nose when he foolishly tried to resist arrest.

The weekend had been spent tying up loose ends, getting debriefed, and undergoing a perfunctory psych eval, mandatory for coming out from an undercover mission.

"Undercover as what? Sasquatch?"

Carlton sighed and resisted the urge to run his hand over his neatly trimmed, but undeniably full beard. Or punch Spencer. He'd only just returned late the night before and no sooner had he informed Karen of his return and availability for active duty, that he'd been called to a scene—_immediately_—leaving him no time to shed the vestiges of the ranch hand look for his clean-shaven Detective Lassiter persona. Apparently, with both he and Juliet gone, the department had been overwhelmed and they needed him _right now_. Worked for him. Less time to think and brood and worry about whether or not she was back. Karen had given him no indication as to whether or not she'd returned, but then, there hadn't been time for more than "Oh, you're back? Great. Get your ass to this scene, _now_."

"So, where's Jules?"

Carlton glanced up from where he was signing in and murmuring something in response to Allen's expression of surprise over the beard. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the tone of the woman's voice was… admiring. Which was stupid.

"What do you mean?"

"Why's she not with you, providing the brains behind the bearded brawn? Or, you know, just the beard?"

Carlton ignored the implication behind the idiot's smarmy tone in favor of fixing him with a withering glare. And taking the other man's measure. All right then—Spencer had no idea where Juliet was either. Carlton was man enough to admit that made him feel, if not better, then…

_Hell_. Okay, yes, it made him feel better that Spencer was every bit as in the dark as he'd been. Had clearly remained in the dark the entire time Carlton had been gone. It appeared the days of Spencer having a leg up on him were finally gone. He released a mental sigh. One less obstacle at least.

"She's not here," he finally said.

"What do you mean? Wasn't she undercover with you?"

Oh, that vaunted "psychic" ability. "No."

"You mean Chief Vick sent you undercover—by your_self_?"

Carton rolled his eyes. "Juliet was gone for a full week before I went undercover you asshat."

"She was?" Spencer's shock was so real, it took all of Carlton's considerable self-control to not reveal his own surprise. So this was what genuine honesty looked like from the man. He filed it away for future reference.

"Spencer, do you mean to tell me you honestly didn't _divine_ your… girlfriend," he practically spit out the word, tasting it for a lie, but for all he knew, they hadn't actually formally broken up. Not that formalities meant a damned thing to Spencer. "Was gone?"

Spencer shrugged, his entire demeanor one of uncaring, but Carlton could discern a slight measure of tightness to the gesture. Nowhere near as much as there should have been, but then, as he'd so often groused to Juliet, the rules of normal didn't apply to Spencer.

"Just figured she was giving me a taste of my own medicine, taking off without a word. I assumed she'd been assigned to the case along with you because you know, you and undercover work…" he added with a smug quirk of his lips that told Carlton the man had known all along that he was on a case. He sent silent thanks that Karen had managed against all odds to keep his whereabouts secret.

"Figured when she came back, she'd be ready to forgive me and fall into my welcoming arms."

Oh, that was _it_. Yet before Carlton could deliver the punch the idiot so richly deserved, he found himself restrained by Allen's surprisingly powerful grip on his forearm.

"What?" he snapped.

"The Chief's office," she murmured.

"Yeah, what of it?" He drew his brows together, thinking the woman sounded more daft than usual. "I was on my way there already."

She hit him with a pointed glance that she then directed toward Karen's office. The desk area was deserted, but a closer look revealed Karen occupying one of the armchairs in the more casual seating area while in the other…

"Juliet," he breathed, completely forgetting he was in the department, completely forgetting about Allen or Spencer or anything other than—

"Juliet," he said even more softly as he strode toward the office. Vaguely, he registered Spencer's presence, eagerly trailing behind, like an annoyingly bouncy beagle puppy on the scent of something irresistible. Like bacon. At the entrance to Karen's office, Spencer pushed past him and burst through arms spread wide like a circus showman on crack.

"Jules! You've returned to me!"

Oh, for God's sake. Carlton not-so-gently shoved Spencer out of the way in time to see Juliet's head whip around, her eyes widening as her gaze met his. Slowly, she stood.

"Carlton," she said softly, with a smile that made him feel as if everything in his world that had been tilted sideways and in danger of sliding clear off was suddenly righted. "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too. So damned much." And he didn't give a damn who heard the words or the longing permeating every syllable. He was done hiding. He drank in each beautiful feature, noting the golden tint to her skin and the light streaks highlighting the honey gold waves she'd allowed to grow out. Wherever she'd been, she'd spent a considerable amount of time outside and looked all the more beautiful for it—a feat he hadn't believed possible in this universe or any other.

"Whoa, Jules—you got… fat_."_

Startled by the bluntness of Spencer's statement—and more than a little annoyed because by God, of all the people to _not_ cast aspersions on anyone's weight—Carlton tore his gaze away from Juliet's face, his heart clenching at the hurt reflected there, to take in the rest of her, his jaw dropping and breathing coming to an absolute standstill as he realized Spencer was right.

And so very, very wrong.

His gaze returned to Juliet's face, her expression—her entire being—appearing to be one of holding its breath.

"You're pregnant."

As she nodded, and everything became horribly, sickeningly clear, Spencer's annoying bray once again rang through the office, his "Pregnant? Really?" delivered with the same inflection as if he'd uttered, _ewww, cooties._ "God, Jules, how could you? Whose is it?"

"_Carlton_—"

Next thing Carlton knew, he was standing over Spencer, sprawled in an ungainly heap on the floor, a hand to his eye while Karen stood in front of him, a hand to his chest.

"Don't do this."

For once, her steely tone had no effect on him. Shaking her off, he snarled around the ache in his chest, "You miserable son of a bitch. This is not one you'll be able to smartass or Peter Pan your way out of, do you hear me? No more free passes."

Spencer's eyes widened. "Dude, are you serious?"

"I swear to God, Spencer—" His palms practically itched with the desire to wrap them around the other man's pudgy neck. He took a step back, shoving a hand through his hair. "You know what? Never mind. You won't step up, I will."

He looked away from Spencer, sitting up with a wary expression, to Juliet, eyes huge as she stood off to the side, one hand over her mouth, the other resting on the gentle curve of her belly. "I will be there for her. Every step of the way. If she'll have me."

A damp sheen lightened the dark blue of her eyes into the soft, loving expression he remembered from their night together—the expression that said she needed him. More than anyone else. He didn't give a rat's ass if this baby was Spencer's. It was Juliet's and Juliet was his.

"Look Lassie, rein in the rescuing high horse for just a second—there is _no_ way that baby can be mine."

Carlton faced Spencer once more. "Dear God, Spencer, for once in your damned life can't you at least accept responsibility for your actions? I've already said you're off the hook for the future, but at least be a damned man and admit what you've done."

Spencer scrambled to his feet and stood toe-to-toe with Carlton—dangerous, since Carlton was prepared to lay him out as many times as necessary. "I would if it was relevant, but in this case, it isn't."

"He's right."

Carlton spun so quickly, his head swam. "What?"

Juliet gazed up at him, one hand still cupped protectively over her abdomen while the other rose to touch his cheek. Her eyes maintained that imploring expression—saying she needed him more than ever, which was why, head swimming, gut clenching, breath trapped, and heart thundering in his ears, he knew what she was about to say, even before the actual words emerged.

"Carlton—this baby—it's yours."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**AN:** Those of you who've read _Both Sides Now_, will recognize both the incident to which Karen refers as well as the keepsake box.

* * *

Karen fumed as the elevator made its painstaking descent to the lobby. What the hell sort of mechanics were operating the damned thing? Ropes and pulleys with dwarves who sang while little forest creatures lurked about? When it finally arrived she barely waited for the doors to begin sliding open before she was shouldering her way through, turning and viciously jabbing at the button for the fifth floor. Jabbing again, as she imagined the face of every stupid, terrified idiotic, stubborn, tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, ill-tempered, snark-dealing, currently bearded and had she mentioned _idiotic_, Irish cop she knew beneath her finger.

Which narrowed it down to exactly one.

Another sharp jab addressed the issue of big-mouthed, faux psychics, but he was so far down her list of Things to Deal With right now as to not be of consequence. Although the temptation to arrest him for sheer stupidity and massive insensitivity _had_ been high.

She rapped sharply at the door to 536, prepared to pick the damned lock or kick it in if necessary, but to her surprise, it swung open before her knuckles met the wood for a second round of authoritative knocking. For a moment, she stared at the defeated line of his shoulders as he trudged back to the sofa where an open bottle of Jack stood on the coffee table alongside what appeared to be a miniature model of a Craftsman bungalow, rendered in exquisite detail.

"I needed time," he said shortly as he dropped onto the sofa and tossed back the contents of the glass he held.

An instant later he was hitting her with a baleful blue glare as she snatched the glass from his hand and in a preemptive strike, took the bottle as well, removing both to the kitchen before returning to take a seat on the coffee table facing him.

"I wasn't done," he groused.

"It's too damned early to be drinking."

"Five o'clock somewhere."

Ignoring him she said, "Besides, O'Hara's going to need you completely sober and cogent."

Crossing his arms and lowering his chin to his chest, he muttered, "Hasn't seemed as if she's needed me for much, lately."

After a glance at his face, easily reading his expression, she gently slid the miniature bungalow out of potential harm's way, noting as she did, the hinges on one side. A keepsake box of some sort, then. Custom-made, if she had to guess and extremely important to him, since Carlton was not one for keepsakes or mementos unless they held a great deal of personal value.

Propping her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward and hit him with a hard stare he returned without flinching, although a storm of emotion churned in the blue depths.

"You're an idiot."

"Not the first time I've heard it."

She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and started again.

"Let's recap, shall we? You've been in love with her for years and have been miserable without her. She told you she's carrying your baby and oh, by the way, is clearly as in love with you as you are with her and as an added bonus, you're both actually free of any prior commitments or entanglements or potential romantic minefields. A normal person would think that the stars have finally aligned for the two of you and that you'd be overjoyed, but then again, this _is_ you we're talking about here, isn't it?" Karen laced her fingers tightly together in an effort to keep from reaching out and slapping the thick-headed dolt straight upside his head.

"She gave you the most remarkable gift you're ever likely to receive in your life and you turned, left without a single word, and now you're sitting here, for lack of a better term, sulking. Tell me, exactly how much time do you expect this tantrum to require, Detective?"

His brows were drawn together in the familiar Lassiter scowl, mouth set in a stubborn mutinous line and despite her ire, Karen had to fight back a grin because she could not _wait_ for the first moment Carlton was faced with that same expression from what would no doubt be his equally stubborn offspring. She did not envy O'Hara one bit having to referee those future showdowns.

Deliberately gentling her voice, she said, "I do understand that it was rather a lot to be hit with at once."

"You knew," he said dully.

She nodded. "Realized it a week or so before she asked for leave." As his mouth opened, she held up a hand. "Oh, please—don't. You're a great detective, Carlton, but truth is, I only figured it out because I've been through it before. No offense, but most men are spectacularly oblivious to the early signs of pregnancy. Doubly so if a woman actively _wants_ to conceal the signs of her pregnancy."

The scowl relaxed into a miserable expression as he rubbed his forehead. "Did you know it was mine?"

She considered how to answer. Carefully she said, "Not initially. But she did make it clear it wasn't Shawn's. Thank God," she muttered almost involuntarily. "After that, it was easy." She lifted a shoulder. "There was really only one person it _could_ be."

The hope that lit his face flared bright, leaving her more than a little breathless at its intensity, before it subsided once more into contemplation.

"I thought she left because of Marlowe," he admitted slowly.

She nodded. "She did—more or less. She didn't want to put undue pressure or influence on you."

"She knew she came first, dammit. Or should have," he added more softly.

Karen threw her hands up in frustration. "How, Carlton? You _asked _her to stand down."

"I know, but after she discovered—" His front teeth dug into his lower lip. "How _could_ she?"

Karen cast a quick glance around the living room in hopes of spotting a baseball bat or two-by-four. The cutlass on the wall would do. "She thought she was giving you the opportunity you asked for, you idiot. Would you please, for the love of all that's good and holy, get out of your own head long enough to understand what that cost her?"

He drove his hands into his hair. "She would have let me make life-altering decisions without having all the facts. She knows I'd want to be fully informed."

"Oh, that's romantic," Karen snapped, but softened at the helplessness expressed in every line of his body. God knows, the man had a hard enough time with emotions on a good day.

"Okay, look—O'Hara, your partner would understand that you need all the facts and would want to make a fully informed decision. However, Juliet, your _partner_, is having a bit of a harder time. Setting aside the fact that she's in love with you, which as you well know screws with your head enough, she's _pregnant_, Carlton, which means she's got the added bonus of a toxic cocktail of hormones coursing through her system. Simple tasks like finding a matching pair of shoes takes herculean effort and normal everyday interactions become fraught with emotional peril. Hallmark ads take on the tragic magnitude of Tolstoy and those hideous animal rescue commercials with Sarah McLachlan crooning mournfully in the background have the ability to drive otherwise stable people to take up residence in a clock tower."

Karen recalled her own personal Waterloo—the Snuggle Bear. Normally she wanted to take out that damned annoying bear, finding him vaguely menacing _a la_ Chucky, yet when she was pregnant, his mere appearance on her screen had left her a weepy mess, nodding that yes, she needed to add more freshness to her laundry to prove she Really Loved Her Family.

With a slight shudder, she went on— "A situation like what the two of you have been dealing with? Cut her some slack for not being able to make heads or tails of any damned thing and for coming to conclusions that under any other circumstances might seem absurd."

He stared past her, silent as a thousand thoughts clouded the blue of his eyes to a stormy gray. "And to think," he said softly, as if speaking to himself. "I didn't tell her right away about Marlowe and I breaking up because I was afraid she'd blame herself. Would blame that one night we had." His eyes cleared yet obvious concern remained as he met her gaze. "Considering she was already pregnant when Marlowe left…"

Karen felt her breath catch. "Remember last year when I said you were trapped between a rock and a hard place?"

Surprisingly, he relaxed enough for the corners of his mouth to twitch slightly. "Yeah."

"That was nothing."

The smile faded. "Tell me about it."

She leaned forward and touched his knee. "But now the rock's shifted and you have room to breathe, Carlton."

"I know." His shoulders rose with his massive breath. "I already knew. I was trying to be careful about it, but I was already trying to show her…" Red streaked across his broad cheekbones, rendering him surprisingly boyish, despite the thick, gray-streaked beard and the worried lines fanning from the corners of his eyes. "Was trying to…"

"Romance her?" Karen offered.

The red deepened as he fidgeted like an antsy altar boy. Taking pity, Karen rose and went to the kitchen where she started a pot of coffee brewing, giving him time to collect himself. A few moments later, color restored to something approaching normal, he appeared, busying himself with taking mugs from the cupboards and pulling the half-and-half from the refrigerator.

"How is she?"

His voice was low and hesitant.

Karen took a long, bracing sip of coffee before answering. "Well, considering this morning alone she's had her asshat ex-boyfriend call her _fat_ and the man she loves declare he'll care for her regardless of whose baby it is, yet take off without a word upon learning that her baby is, you know, actually _his_, you'd best be grateful it was me who showed up and not her, Glock in hand. Otherwise, she's just peachy." She flashed a small evil smile at his obvious annoyance with her deliberate inflection. With a quick glance at her watch she added, "Actually, the real reason she's not here is because right now, she should just be arriving at the doctor's."

As his eyes widened with clear alarm, she added, "Relax—it's a routine scheduled appointment, plus she needs to be cleared for a return to the field."

His mug hit the counter with a sharp report. "She is _not_ going back in the field."

"Oh, for God's sake, Carlton, can the Neanderthal act." Silently lamenting the cutlass was too far away for her to reach easily, she added, "You stood side-by-side with me as I held a gun on a perp while I was eight months pregnant, and has it slipped your mind that we were on a work-related trip when my water broke?"

"How could I forget?" he muttered. "Never did get the stains out of my briefcase." As she lifted an eyebrow, he straightened, pulling at his collar. His tell for trying for dignified and authoritative. Pity the wide-eyed terrified expression canceled out any traces of either dignified or authoritative. "Besides, you weren't actively in the field."

Karen sighed and did some mental calculations. O'Hara was just shy of twenty weeks, so not quite halfway through her term. It was going to be a _long_ five months.

"Perhaps before you go making any proclamations that could in all probability land you in the ER, you should go find her and maybe, I don't know… _talk_ to her? Sensibly? Like a sane human being?"

She very nearly laughed at his expression, trapped somewhere between rolling his eyes and such a clear, desperate longing, she felt the impulse to laugh fade away almost as quickly as it had appeared. It hadn't been an easy road for her two charges. Not likely the road would be a whole lot easier, given how headstrong and independent they both were, but at the same time, they were finally on the same road and it was one they'd at least be navigating together.

Drawing a folded piece of paper from her pocket, she held it out. "You know… if you leave right now, you might be able to get there in time for the ultrasound."

Slowly, he accepted the paper, paling as he read the information, his eyes standing out like twin beacons reflecting sheer, blue terror. And hope.

"Ultrasound," he echoed, blinking slowly as if emerging from a trance. Fixing Karen with a wondering stare he said, "Juliet's having a baby."

"Yes. Yes, she is."

"She's having _my_ baby," he said softly.

Karen bit the inside of her cheek. "Yes, Carlton."

"I gotta go." Bolting from the kitchen he reappeared a moment later, eyes wild. "Spare key's in the desk—lock up when you leave. Or don't. I don't care."

This time his disappearance was punctuated by the heavy slam of the door. Calmly, Karen poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and after only a moment's deliberation, added a slug from the still-open bottle of Jack.

It was going to be a _long_ five months.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**AN:** Here we are—premiere day in the U.S. As such, I'll be wrapping this story up in the next few days. Not that it really has anything to do with what's going to happen, but who knows what story inspirations (or frustrations) the new season will bring with it? Well, we know a few. Which is why it's grand we have fiction. Enjoy.

* * *

"Your blood pressure's a little higher than I'd like to see it, Juliet." Dr. Russell glanced up from perusing her charts. "I have to say, I'm surprised, considering you've just returned from a month away and you're in otherwise wonderful shape."

"Situational," Juliet muttered, her heart rate accelerating just from the recollection of the scene she'd left a scant hour before. Carlton, utterly still in that way only he could be, staring at her for a long, stunned moment before he'd spun and left without a word.

Shawn, staring after Carlton before turning back to her, pale and disbelieving as he'd squawked, "Lassie? You slept with _Lassie_? Was it under extreme duress or the influence of a psychotropic drug? Because seriously, Jules—"

At least he'd have a matching set of black eyes.

"Is the _situation_ going to be an ongoing problem?" the doctor asked as she pushed aside the front of Juliet's shirt and pressed the stethoscope to her chest, adding, "Breathe."

Before she could formulate a reply, a muffled, yet distinctly aggravated and extremely familiar, "Listen, lady, I'm the head damned detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department so if you know what's good for you, you _will_ let me back there," echoed beyond the exam room's door.

"Sir, you could be the Pope borne in here on angel's wings and you still wouldn't be permitted back without the patient's okay. Now if you know what's good for _you_, you'll just sit your ass down and wait while I find out if you're wanted."

As Juliet's breath caught and her heart rate started skittering erratically, Dr. Russell lifted an eyebrow. "The situation I take it?" she asked.

Juliet sighed, part mortified, part hurt, part undeniably angry, but the biggest part of her so undeniably happy and relieved he'd come for her, it canceled out the other three. At least for the time being.

He was here. For her and their baby. In the end, that's what mattered.

She could crack his skull later.

She nodded in response to the doctor's question. "You'd better let him back here before he draws his weapon and starts threatening warrants."

Dr. Russell snorted. "Please. He could be George Clooney oiled, naked, and bearing fine wine and dark chocolate and Teresa still wouldn't let him back here if he wasn't supposed to be."

Juliet could well envision the tiny Italian nurse barring the way with nothing but her dark brown glare and iron will, but still—

"Even naked _and_ bearing chocolate?"

That expressive eyebrow quirked once more. "I didn't say she wouldn't take him off to a supply closet and do bad things to him. Just that she wouldn't let him anywhere he wasn't supposed to be."

Juliet laughed. An instant later an outraged "_Sir!_" was followed by a shocked cry and a flustered, "Oh my _God_! I'm so sorry—I beg your pardon ma'am—" before the door to her exam room flew open, revealing a wild-eyed Carlton.

"Oh thank God, Juliet—are you okay? Is everything okay? Is the baby—do you need anything—I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot, you're so beautiful and oh my God, what's wrong? What's the doctor doing? Can you breathe? Is the baby okay, dear God, are you okay, what can I—"

Carlton's frantic ramblings came to an abrupt halt as a crack echoed through the room. Stunned, he stared down at Teresa, working his jaw back and forth as a red handprint bloomed on his cheek.

"Sit."

He sat in the chair she indicated, blinking as if emerging from a trance.

"Is he yours?" Teresa demanded from an equally stunned Juliet.

"I…um—"

"Yes."

Juliet stared as Carlton's quiet but certain reply overrode her stammering.

An unimpressed Teresa fixed him with yet another glare. "Do _not_ speak until you are spoken to."

His brows lowered, expression growing thunderous in a way with which Juliet was entirely too familiar, and which, God help her, she'd missed so damned much.

"Yes. Yes, he's… mine." As her gaze met his, she felt her heart beat even faster at the clear relief reflected in the deep blue, and overriding even the relief, the desire—and love.

"I'm sorry." His gaze reached across the short distance between them, as warm and strong as his embrace. "I'm so sorry, Juliet."

She swallowed hard, wanting so badly to slide from the table and straight into his arms, yet held hostage by the remnants of hurt and a deep-seated fear that maybe he was just a figment of her imagination. That she'd wanted him so badly and had missed him so damned much, her heartsick imagination was conjuring him. That if she went to him, he'd simply vanish, never to be hers.

"Why don't we give you two a few minutes while I check on another patient?" Juliet blinked at the feel of Dr. Russell's hand on her shoulder. That was real, wasn't it? And Carlton remained right there in front of her. Looking so solid and real and so hopeful and oh, God, he was really _there_.

"I'll have Teresa bring in the rest of your file and Mr. Lassiter can fill in the relevant items."

Carlton's gaze flickered over to Dr. Russell. "Relevant items?" he echoed faintly.

"Father's health history and current information." A small smile turned up the edges of the doctor's mouth. "There's actually very little for you to fill out—Juliet was very thorough."

He stood, shooting a brief glare Teresa's way that practically dared her to try to stop him, and moved to stand before Juliet. Her breath caught as he took her hands, his long fingers warm and strong as they wrapped around hers.

More proof, because no matter how often she'd dreamed of it, absolutely nothing felt quite like the reality of Carlton's touch. Even as simple a touch as brushing her fingers with his as he passed her a coffee—even before she'd known just how much she loved him—no one had ever felt quite like Carlton.

"I'm not surprised," he said, his response meant for Dr. Russell, but his attention—that extraordinary, laser-blue focus—clearly meant for her. Making her feel as if they were the only ones in the world. "Juliet knows me better than anyone else in the world. Always has."

The sound of the door opening and closing vaguely registered, but the only thing Juliet cared about was Carlton. There. In front of her, his hands holding hers tightly as he stared at her, eyes wide and wondering and just a little terrified, as if he was continually coming to the realization that yeah—she was pregnant. And his. So very his.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Stop." She freed one hand and rested her fingertips against his lips, shivering slightly at the unfamiliar feel of his beard against her skin. Shivered more fully as he kissed her fingers leaving her with a very visceral sense of what it would be like to feel that beard over more of her skin.

Over _all_ of it.

"You're here." Still a bit fearful, she stared into his face, studied every line, every shade of blue in those eyes that she knew by heart. And before she could even ask, he answered.

"I'm here," he said softly. "For _both_ of you." The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. "For good."

Juliet sighed and leaned forward to rest her head on his chest, comforted by the steady, if fast, beating of his heart beneath her cheek.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Because she couldn't take it if he changed his mind. If he was here out of some misguided sense of honor and obligation—even as her subconscious was scolding there was no way he would have burst into her exam, frantic and desperate if it was simply out of obligation.

"Are you?"

As with so many times in the past, Juliet heard so much more than the sum of those two words in his hesitant question. Tightening her arms around his back, she said, "I had no intention of keeping anything from you, Carlton. I just…" She blinked back the tears that had a tendency to appear at a moment's notice lately. "I wanted you to be absolutely sure of what you wanted."

"It's always been you." He leaned back slightly and cupped her face in his warm, gentle hands. "I was a fool to think otherwise. Ever," he stressed, the unhappy line appearing between his brows. "I should have fought for you."

She recalled the sight of him standing over Shawn, fury and possession etched in every line of his body. Recalled every coffee offered, every awkward hug, every moment he'd stood beside her or backed her up. Recalled a cold morning and a dead clock face and the sensation of sheer terror abating as he let her fall apart in his arms.

Recalled a night when she'd needed him more than anyone else in the world and he'd been there for her.

"You did."

"It was almost too late."

She looked down, focusing on the buttons of his deep blue shirt. Her voice low, she asked, "Was it?"

He took so long in answering, she felt her heart begin a frantic trip-hammering at the base of her throat, leaving her more than a little short of breath.

"Not really." Her breathing steadied as his hands dropped to take hers. His thumbs began rubbing soothing patterns across the backs. "If she hadn't ended it, I would have, but…" His chest rose and fell with an enormous breath. "It would have taken me longer." His hold tightened. "Not because I loved her but because I was an arrogant, stubborn fool." His voice cracked. "A terrified fool."

Slowly, she leaned in once more and rested her head against his chest, feeling it rise once more, this time with an obviously relieved sigh. "We're a helluva pair, Lassiter."

"An unbreakable pair, O'Hara." Once more he cupped her face and tilted her head back, his eyes so endlessly blue, as if lit from within. "If you'll have me."

She nodded and sighed as he lowered his head and his mouth found hers, sure and sweet and possessive, all at once. And as the kiss progressed, his tongue teasing hers, gently at first then with more deliberate intent, sure and sweet and possessive became ardent and heated with desire. Holding him close, his warmth wrapped around her, Juliet felt herself sinking into sensation she'd only dreamt about for far too long—sensation that her body and soul and heart craved.

Carlton wanted her.

He loved her.

And in a flash, her world felt… right.

That sense of rightness allowed her to ease back—the kisses slowing to soft, gentle caresses until finally she dropped her head to his shoulder.

"I love you," she murmured against his neck, goosebumps rising at the feel of his beard tickling her lips.

"I love you, too," he said, his hands moving in long, soothing strokes along her back. "So damned much, Juliet."

A soft rap at the door had them reluctantly pulling apart, although not completely, as Carlton kept firm hold of her hand.

"All right then," Dr. Russell said with a smile. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we? I suspect the two of you would much rather be alone somewhere that's not an exam room."

"You—I have paperwork." Teresa briskly tapped Carlton's shoulder with a clipboard.

"Carlton," Juliet warned, barely suppressing a grin as his brows began lowering again and his hand tightened on hers, clearly reluctant to let go. "It's okay. There really isn't that much to fill out."

Carlton took the clipboard, grumbling, "For an O.B. nurse, your bedside manner sucks."

"It's not the fathers they pay me to take care of," Teresa shot back, clearly not in the slightest bit intimidated by the Lassiter bark.

Relocating back to his chair, he began reading the chart's contents, occasionally writing, while Dr. Russell resumed her exam.

"Look at that—your blood pressure's back down to normal."

"I'm sure it'll have its moments again," Juliet murmured with a fond glance at the downturned silver-and-black head.

Dr. Russell grinned. "Oh, honey, it wouldn't be love if it didn't."

A sharp intake of breath had them both turning their heads to find Carlton staring down at the file, his fingertips resting on a grainy black-and-white image.

Teresa, standing closest to Carlton, glanced down at the file.

"That was at twelve weeks," she said. "A lot's changed." Taking the file from his hands and placing it on the counter, she nodded toward Juliet. "Come on, tough guy. It's time for you to meet your baby."

As he stared blankly, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, I'm aging here. Go stand by your girl so I can get on with my work."

Juliet giggled helplessly as annoyance flashed across Carlton's face, but Teresa's rebuke had its intended result. Standing, he unhesitatingly approached the head of the exam table where she now lay reclined, slacks pushed down slightly and shirt pulled up to just below her breasts, exposing the smooth, round curve that seemed to evolve every day.

"My God, Juliet," he breathed his tone filled with obvious wonder. His hand rose and hovered, then started to drop away. Quickly, Juliet reached out and grabbed it.

"It's okay—" Her hand over his, she brought it to rest on her abdomen, sighing at the feel of his skin against hers. "At least… I hope it is," she said, Shawn's appalled/disgusted gaping briefly flashing in her mind.

He brushed her hair back from her face, his touch as reverent as the expression in his eyes. "Very okay. And I'll shoot anyone who implies otherwise."

From the opposite side of the table, Teresa nudged her shoulder. "He'll do," she said tartly with a nod in Carlton's direction.

"Gee, thanks," Carlton groused, then fell silent as Dr. Russell gently pushed his hand out of the way in order to spread gel across Juliet's stomach.

The electronic _whoosh_ of the machine filled the room as she swept the wand across Juliet's abdomen followed an instant later by a steady, rapid beating.

"Is that—"

Juliet felt her heart constrict at the awe in Carlton's voice. "Yeah," she managed around the lump in her throat. "That's our baby's heart."

"Oh, God."

"And here's your baby." Dr. Russell turned the monitor slightly, revealing the image. Unlike the earliest ones, where it had been difficult to decipher anything other than a shapeless blob anchored by a rapidly beating heart—always strong and constant—the image on the screen was very clearly a baby. So sharply defined, even the placid sucking of its thumb was readily apparent.

"Oh _God_."

Juliet glanced up and felt the lump in her throat give way to the feeling of her heart simultaneously breaking and expanding. Carlton—her strong, reserved, resolute Carlton—stood transfixed, staring at their baby, a single tear clinging to his dark lashes.

He would suffer the tortures of the damned, she knew. Would feel every hurt—large or small—more intensely than if it were his own. Would pace endlessly, slay every monster, and blame himself for every injustice he'd be unable to fix. Would die for this baby, if necessary.

He'd be a pain in the _ass_, but a more devoted, loving father would be impossible to find.

"Well, well, well, so that's who you're going to be, Baby Lassiter," Dr. Russell murmured as she moved the wand around. Glancing away from the screen, she asked, "Do you want to know?"

Juliet exchanged a glance with Carlton. Slowly, he smiled and she shook her head. "No," she said, still holding Carlton's gaze. "All we want to know is that the baby's healthy."

"Everything looks great so far." The whooshing ceased as Dr. Russell removed the wand. As she handed Juliet a wipe with which to clean up, she added, "We'll schedule you for the three-D ultrasound before your next visit—if you change your mind about wanting to know, you can find out then, but that's just the frosting on the cake. Right now, everything looks absolutely perfect."

"Of course it does," Carlton murmured, stroking her hair. "This baby's got the perfect mother."

Juliet felt her cheeks heating at the absolute possession with which she felt herself enveloped—evident in his voice, his touch, his look.

Okay, her baby was healthy—could this appointment be _done_, already?

Dr. Russell smiled. "Juliet, as far as a return to the field, you're cleared for all but the most strenuous of duties. No chasing bad guys down dark alleys or body slamming them to the ground.

"The hell she will," Carlton growled.

"Look, you—don't make me regret letting you back here."

"You didn't—" Carlton began, but stopped short as Teresa shoved a small item into his hand.

"You really think she's that big a fool?"

Faint red streaked across his face as he gazed down at the ultrasound image he held, then lifted his worried gaze to meet Juliet's. "We'll talk to Karen?"

Offered as a request. In deference cloaked with obvious care and concern. Oh, he was going to be a _massive_ pain in the ass, but he would try. And he would be there for her. She couldn't ask for anything more.

Well… there _was_ one thing—

"Tomorrow," she said, reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm and thrilling to the sensual feel of his beard against her skin.

As his eyes darkened to a deep, predatory blue, she shivered. "Right now, all I want is for you to take me home."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**AN: **Again, references to _Both Sides Now _made in this chapter. Also, heading into the **M**-territory because after two stories and ten collective chapters, they deserve it, no?

* * *

Carlton gazed down at Juliet—peaceful, utterly beautiful, and undeniably and completely dead to the world asleep. Normally he'd worry—was she bored? Regretting her decision? Couldn't stand to be conscious in his presence? Despite _his_ certainty of the emotion and connection between them, it was all still so new and he was who he was and worrying was something he did so well, after all—but she'd mentioned that deep exhaustion was a common side effect of pregnancy. Growing a human took a lot of energy and really it shouldn't come as such a surprise that _his _child should require rather a lot and had a way of leaving her with a sudden need for naps that she hadn't experienced since she was in kindergarten. The gentle smile she'd worn as she had offered her explanation had soothed his fears while her huge yawn convinced him of the depths of her exhaustion and shot his already revved-up protective streak into redline territory.

And if that hadn't been enough, her quiet acquiescence to his declaration that he was going to drive her home and call someone from the station to pick up her car would've tipped the scales.

She'd been out almost before they hit the first stop light, not even stirring when he cut the engine. He'd been able to carry her up to the condo and get her into bed without so much as a twitch, although when he tried to leave, she'd whimpered and blindly reached for him, settling only when he'd grasped her hand.

Words couldn't even _begin_ to describe how that had made him feel.

He'd gently pulled free with a murmured assurance he wasn't going anywhere and after quickly changing, had slipped into bed beside her, his heart damn near stopping when she immediately curled against him, her head finding a natural resting place on his chest. Initially, he'd thought there was no way in hell he'd ever get to sleep—not with Juliet in his arms, her breath a teasing caress against his neck—but weeks of restlessness and worry and heartsickness had taken their toll and soon enough, he drifted off.

Now he was awake, the pale gray of early evening bathing the room in a soft, almost magical light, but it couldn't even begin to compete with the magic in his arms. Juliet. His Juliet.

Finally—_his_ Juliet.

Never mind the simple act of holding her—of knowing he had the freedom to hold her—was almost overwhelming in and of itself.

The first night they'd spent together had been about attempting to put structure to the fantasy if only in the hopes of containing it while their second night had the been the fantasy breaking free from those constraints.

Now, Carlton held the fantasy in his arms and accepted that yeah, it was real. They'd been foolish and headstrong and had very nearly lost each other, but against all odds, the fantasy had survived to become his new reality.

"You're thinking."

"I do a lot of that, yes," he said, threading his fingers through her hair as he met her drowsy smile with one of his own.

"Are you overthinking?"

He considered the question. "I don't know. Probably."

"About?"

"Us," he said simply. "This. How unbelievably unlikely yet completely inevitable it all feels."

"It does, doesn't it?"

As he nodded, her gaze sharpened, the last of the sleep haze disappearing as she glanced around the room—registered where they were.

When her gaze returned to his, expression carefully neutral, he ventured a quiet, "She never even crossed the threshold, you know."

A combination of relief and guilt overwhelmed the neutral and sent a pang through his chest. Dammit.

"She ended it same day she was released. And thank God she was smart enough to realize it had been done long before then." He toyed with Juliet's hair, breathing in the expected scents of vanilla and lavender along with a new sweetness reminiscent of coconut that clung to her.

Gaze cast resolutely down, she nodded. "You're really… okay?" she finally asked.

"Yes." He tilted her head back and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "Especially now." He took a deep shuddering breath. "I didn't know how to tell you it was over and that I was fine with it being over, that it was best it was over—then you disappeared and I was so damned scared and you know me, Juliet—I don't get scared. Only where you're concerned. Please, sweetheart," he said, hearing the naked plea in his voice and not giving a damn because there was no room to hide from this woman. Hiding and fear and sheer cowardice had nearly cost them everything.

"Please don't ever leave me again."

She captured his hand in hers and briefly kissed the palm before drawing it down to her abdomen and easing it beneath the hem of her shirt. Laying his hand over the curve of her belly she said quietly, "We're not going anywhere—_ever_."

"God… _we_," he whispered, still stunned at the reality.

As he started stroking instinctively, she arched against his touch with a pleased sigh. "Oh, that feels _so_ nice."

"Nice doesn't begin to describe it." Her skin was as soft and smooth as velvet beneath his hand, the warmth an intoxicating invitation to touch more—touch _everywhere_—an invitation he fully expected to accept, as often as she'd allow him.

"You really like it?"

A slow burn started in his chest at the tentative note in her voice. "Did that asshat say anything else to you?"

She shrugged, her fingertips teasing light soothing yet unbearably arousing lines along his forearm. "Just some crack about my being under duress or drugged to have slept with you. That's as far as he got before I punched him."

The anger vanished as he laughed. "That's my girl," he whispered with a kiss to her forehead. "But remember what the doctor said about strenuous duties."

"_Pfft_. Taking Shawn out hardly qualifies as strenuous."

Couldn't argue with that. As far as soothing her fears, however…

"I will _always_ love touching you, Juliet," he said as he carefully spread his hand across her abdomen, deep slow heat spreading through him at the new fullness and knowing what lay beyond. _He'd_ done that.

Guess Karen hadn't been completely wrong—he was feeling more than a little Neanderthal about it, but dammit, _he'd_ done that.

Dear God, he'd done _that_.

"You're thinking again."

He shivered as she reached up and rubbed between his eyebrows until he relaxed.

"What is it?"

Gaze fixed on his hand he said softly, "Am I going to be a good father, Juliet?"

"Oh, God, Carlton… _yes_." Her hand rose to his cheek. Gently easing his head up, she held his gaze steadily, her own filled with deep blue reassurance. "Why on earth would you think otherwise?"

He rubbed his face against her palm, picturing the gray and outright white that now dominated his beard and that was distributed more than liberally through his hair. Imagined the habitual frown with which he faced his mirror most days and his irascible, short-tempered, prone to say the worst thing possible nature. He couldn't envision any scenario where Juliet wouldn't have kept their baby, but right now, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why on earth she'd want _him_. At least, as a father for their child.

All of this and more flitted through his mind all-too-easily, but all that emerged was a miserable, "I'm old."

She snorted, amusement evident. "You're barely forty-four and in better shape than men a dozen years younger."

"Cranky," he muttered, his fears not in the slightest bit appeased.

"Loving."

"Hair-trigger."

"Protective," she countered. "And sweet."

"Am _not_," he muttered, although he felt a reluctant smile tugging at his lips in response to hers.

"Oh, you most certainly are, Carlton Lassiter. One of the sweetest men I know. But don't worry—I wouldn't _dream_ of letting the cat out of the bag," she whispered as she leaned forward. Breath warm against his skin, she added, "That'll be our little secret, 'kay?"

His head fell back as her seeking mouth found purchase on the skin of his neck, the tip of her tongue tracing a maddening path along the edge of his beard. "_Ohhh_-kay," he sighed, ready to agree to damn near anything, so long as she kept doing what she was doing. With her tongue… and oh, God, her hands… Her hands were wandering beneath the hem of his t-shirt, nails scoring light, fiery trails along his abdomen and up to his chest where she lay one hand flat over his pounding heart while the other slid around to his back, urging him to roll more fully over her.

Instantly, a new fear assailed him.

"Juliet—"

"This does not fall under the auspices of 'strenuous duties', I swear." Her voice was a seductive vibration against his throat, sending shivers down his spine and straight around to his already painfully aroused groin.

She leaned back, her skin flushed to a seductive glow, her gold-streaked hair spread across his pillow. "Because I know you and I know how your mind works, a quick—_very_ quick—primer. I'm in perfect health, you heard the doctor say so yourself."

Silently, he nodded.

"I'm in my second trimester and while I require a lot of sleep, my energy levels are actually elevated."

He nodded again, experiencing the distinct feeling that although her expression was completely serious and solemn, she was laughing at him. Gently, but laughing, nevertheless.

"There's also another side effect that arrives with the second trimester."

"Oh?" he managed, although to his ears, it emerged sounding more like a strangled gurgle.

Drawing his head down alongside hers, she turned just far enough for her lips to rest against his ear. Very softly, she whispered, "I am incredibly horny—all…" Her teeth tugged lightly at the lobe. "the…" _tug _"damned…" _tug_ "time…"

While electricity sizzled along every nerve ending and fried every hormone he possessed into one giant ball of lust, she eased back onto the pillow and regarded him _very_ seriously.

"And I know you won't be able to keep that beard for much longer, so before you have to shave it off, I'd really like to enjoy it."

He blinked. "Okay."

"Everywhere."

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe_, dammit. "Okay."

A small smile, knowing and seductive and yet somehow still innocent turned up the edges of her lovely full mouth. "_Now_ would be nice, Carlton."

_Why_ did men ever imagine themselves to be superior again?

"Oh dear God, _yes_." He moved to quickly shed his clothes, pausing only to ask, "You're absolutely certain about that not too strenuous thing?"

Her gaze unashamedly raked over him, smile broadening into an obvious appreciation he'd never before felt from a woman. "Absolutely," she breathed, reaching out to skim a hand along his bare thigh and brush lightly against his erection, so clearly wanting him—spiking his own want up to unimaginable levels.

"Good," he all but growled as he lay over her, mouth finding hers, his tongue demanding entry she she not only granted, but demanded in turn, sucking and stroking in a way that left him lightheaded as he imagined her doing that over the rest of his body. As they exchanged increasingly heated kisses, he pushed her slacks and underwear down, his hands exploring before he began working his way down her body with his mouth, letting her divest herself of shirt and bra while he tasted and explored every inch of newly exposed flesh.

Each new curve demanded time and attention he was only too happy to give. Her breasts alone were a marvel—fuller now, a fine network of pale blue veins barely visible beneath the surface of her creamy skin, like the finest marble—except unlike marble, soft and so very warm to his touch, her nipples providing spectacular contrast. Larger and much deeper in color, they were so damned inviting, he couldn't help but linger for long moments, rubbing his cheek against one while using tongue and teeth on the other, before turning his head to give the other equal attention. Attention she was only too happy to receive given how she writhed and moaned beneath his ministrations, begging for more, her hands buried in his hair and nails teasing his scalp in a way that spurred him to _give_ her more. Moving down her torso, he placed gentle reverent kisses along the curve of her belly, stroking with his hands as he felt increasingly powerful surges of possessiveness with each caress.

His woman. She was _his_.

The further down her body he traveled, the more urgent and restless her motions and the more he wanted to give her exactly what she wanted—which was why he bypassed the apex of her thighs in favor of descending all the way to her ankles, earning a groan of protest and a frustrated jerk of her legs.

"Temper," he murmured with a kiss to one ankle. "I'm giving you what you want, baby. But it's the way _I _want to give it to you."

An enormous sigh shuddered through her body and sent renewed heat coursing through his system. Honestly, Carlton wasn't certain how much longer _he_ could hold out, but then Juliet had always had a way of encouraging the best from him.

Gradually, he worked his way up both legs, draping them over his shoulders and relishing the feel of them caressing his back. Long moments were spent high on the insides of both thighs, strong and smooth, widening as if to welcome hands and mouth, then closing, as if to draw him closer still. A siren's call he was finally unable to resist.

The first touch of his tongue to the most sensitive heart of her left her arching hard and crying his name, her climax overtaking her immediately. Before she could fully come back down, he set to work building her desire back up, holding her bucking hips firmly and giving her everything her body—and his—demanded. As her arousal built to a second, equally powerful orgasm, he finally gave in, moving up her body and sinking into her deep, welcoming heat. Mindful even amidst the intense desire enveloping them, he kept his weight braced on his forearms, even as he curled his hands over her shoulders and yielded to his body's demands that he drive into her. Harder… faster—claiming her.

_Owning_ her.

The way she'd owned him for years.

The way she would always and forever own him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**AN: **This chapter's for Loafer, who commented it seemed we needed some thinkiness from Juliet's POV about the dissolution of her relationship with Shawn. As usual, she is Quite Wise. SPOILER ALERT: some of the dialogue in this beginning scene is borrowed directly from SANTABARATOWN 2 as well as from episode 2's preview. As usual, with a bit of squinting and handwaving, it can be incorporated and interpreted as part of the fabric of this story, but because the story itself is so AU, we can assume the implications are not at all congruent with the show's and it's going to go wandering down its own merry path. As usual, no infringement intended—I own nothing.

Just thought I'd throw that out there again.

Oh, and this turned a little unexpectedly and ever-so-slightly **M** again. Hope you don't mind.

* * *

_"You're going after him, aren't you?"_

_He wouldn't look at her. "Aw, Jules, what do you want from me?"_

_"Honesty would be a good start—I am trying to help you."_

_She tried to ignore the guilt jabbing at her as she scolded him about honesty. How many times had he lied to her in the past—hell, this week alone?—compared to how often she'd ever lied to him? Of course, her _one_ lie—mostly of omission—was a humdinger. It still couldn't possibly compare to the dozens of times he'd lied or withheld information. Could it?_

_Oh, God, she didn't even know anymore. _

_"Oh yeah? Then help me find this guy."_

_"You know I can't do that." Not the way he wanted. He _knew_ her hands were tied, not only legally, but ethically and emotionally as well. Which made his request even emptier. He not only had no expectation of her assistance, he really didn't want it. The only thing she could do was try to appeal to him on an emotional level. _

_"Look, I'm worried about what could happen to you."_

_"Look, if they fire me, they fire me."_

_Firing. That's what he thought. That she was worried he'd be fired. Son of a… "That's not what I'm talking about, Shawn—these are very dangerous people."_

_"I appreciate the concern, I do—" Right. By the tone of his voice, not only did he not appreciate her concern—he didn't even care it existed. The only thing that mattered, was his mission. "But I gotta go."_

* * *

_"Just remember, you're not going through this alone. Okay? So the next time you decide to risk your life, remember that there's someone that loves you who's worried sick."_

_"I know," he'd said, uncharacteristically somber. "Gus." _

_As she'd frowned, he quickly added with the smile she'd once found so charming, "Hey, I kid, I kid."_

_She was sure he did. Or that he thought he did. She'd played along and smiled, but she couldn't shake the sensations that had overtaken her at his unhesitating response. Part annoyance, that he couldn't take her seriously—not even in that particular moment. Because she loved him. She did. Maybe she wasn't _in_ love with him, but she cared. The bigger part of her, however, had recognized the truth in his response. He did have Gus. He'd always have Gus. And she was shamefully glad. Because it meant Shawn would always have someone. And it wouldn't _have_ to be her._

* * *

_"You know my lease is almost up."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"So I… am going to move in… with my dad."_

_And the only thing she'd been able to think was _Oh, thank God. _She should have been ashamed._

_What she was, was relieved._

_She still had time._

* * *

_She found him lounging in an Adirondack chair on his front lawn, iced tea in hand as he watched the sailboats skim past. No one would ever guess that mere weeks earlier he'd been at death's door. _

_"Hey, Henry… how are you feeling?"_

_He grinned and lifted his glass in toast. "Pretty good, kid, all things considered. What's up with you?"_

_She forced a smile around the pit in her stomach. "Just the usual. Working a lot." _

_Trying like hell to remember she had to give the man she loved the space she'd promised._

_"Heavy case load?"_

_Trying like hell to remember who she was supposed to be in love with._

_"When is it not?"_

_Knowing she had to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may because she just couldn't lie anymore. Whatever happened... happened. _

_"Looks like I retired at the right time." He chuckled and shook his head, prompting a reluctant smile from her. Far more sensitive to emotional undercurrents than his son, his smile faded as he gently asked, "So, what brings you by?"_

_"I was hoping to talk to Shawn." She shoved her hands in her jeans' pockets. "He's not at the Psych offices and Gus is on a business trip, so I figured he was here."_

_Henry's brows drew together. "Why would he be here?"_

_Confused, Juliet slowly replied, "Because he's… living here?"_

_Henry reared back, a familiar expression of disbelief wreathing his craggy features. "Good God, no. What happened? You kick him out already?"_

_The pit grew, threatened to swallow her where she stood. "Kick him out?"_

_He shrugged, disbelief quickly turning to uneasy suspicion. "He told me his lease was running out and that he'd be moving in with you. I figured it was about damned time."_

_Bright lights swam before Juliet's eyes, obscuring the brightness of the day. "Henry, he told me he was moving in with _you_ when his lease ran out."_

_"Not just Good God, no, but oh, hell no__." Henry set his glass down on a nearby table and reached for her, easing her down to the chair beside his. "It was bad enough when he was staying here during my recovery. Especially after his mom came to visit. You'd think at thirty-six and in a steady relationship himself, he'd understand about needs. Even for parents."_

_Oh, dear God—did he mean…_

_"It was after he caught us he told me he was moving in with you."_

_He did mean. And she could well imagine Shawn's horror and deep dismay. "When was this, Henry?"_

_"Two…no—wait, almost three weeks ago. Are you telling me you haven't heard from or seen him in that entire time?"_

_Nearly three weeks. Had it really been that long since she'd spoken to her alleged boyfriend? She'd been working hard, yes—in part because they were busy, they were always busy, crime never took a respite, no matter her crazy, mixed-up emotional state, but more because the more she worked, the more time she could legitimately spend with Carlton. The more she worked, the more she could exhaust herself. The more exhausted she was, the easier it was to fall into sleep that while not dreamless—since the moment she closed her eyes, memories of their night together would assail her senses and leave her desperate for more—was still deep enough and hard enough to keep her from running to him and shamelessly demanding he choose _her_._

_That kept her from begging him to forgive her for having been a thoughtless, selfish fool. To have treated him like… a fixture. To swear she'd spend the rest of her life loving him and treating him like the absolute gift he was._

_Unable to do any of that now because of her own cowardice and idiocy she decided it well past time to do the one thing she could—tell Shawn it was over._

_She couldn't help but wonder if he'd already known._

* * *

_"Hey, Jules."_

_"Shawn."_

_"I don't suppose you're going to buy that I've been at my dad's this entire time, are you?"_

_She calmly faced him across her threshold and remained silent. The way he was shuffling his feet and fidgeting, refusing to fully meet her gaze for more than a split second at a time, he no doubt assumed she was mad. Honestly, she wasn't. At best, mildly curious. Although not even that. Not that he'd believe her. For one thing, Shawn World had to be far more interesting and you know, _fun_ than the world the mundane folk inhabited, Moreover, in Shawn World, silence and stillness were less about disinterest as they were foreign entities and therefore could only purport Bad Things. _

_"Can I come in?"_

_"Is it really necessary?"_

_"I…" He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. "Jules, look, I don't blame you for being mad—"_

_She shrugged. "I'm not."_

_His eyes widened at the matter-of-factness with which she spoke. "You're not?"_

_Relief lightened his features, turned them so incongruously boyish, she couldn't understand what she'd seen in them past the first year of their acquaintance when she still thought boyish in a twenty-eight year old was cute. Far less so in a thirty-six year old. "So that means we're good then."_

_She shrugged again. "I guess." She knew she was being a coward, allowing him to ramble and make assumptions, but she couldn't deny an almost morbid curiosity at his reaction—couldn't resist seeing just how far he could go without realizing his behavior, while it didn't affect her beyond convincing her she was doing the right thing, was not acceptable for an adult—much less one in a so-called committed relationship. _

_He sighed and grinned. "Excellent. Hey, look, why don't we order some pizzas and I'll call Gus—let me tell you, he was so happy I was back and that life would be returning to normal—and we can watch a _Twilight Zone_ marathon. Or hey, maybe just a _Twilight_ movie marathon. We can totally _MST3K_ it. You still have all the DVDs, right?"_

_"I returned them to the office." Along with all the rest of his things._

_"Oh, well, I can ask Gus to stop and and pick them up on his way over." _

_When she made no move to abandon her perch in the doorway, he finally stopped and for the first time, seemed to understand she wasn't reacting to his babblings. Not with the glee she might have exhibited early on in their friendship, nor the exasperation that had become the norm throughout much of the latter part of their relationship. Which hadn't differed in tone from their friendship come to think of it, other than the sex that had become routine fairly quickly and burned out to almost nonexistent even before Henry had gotten shot. It was as if Shawn expended so much energy being… Shawn, it left him with few reserves for physical interaction. Let alone emotional._

_It wasn't fair to compare him to Carlton, but she did anyway__. Carlton's reserve and cool demeanor, so often mocked by Shawn, masked a deeply passionate nature and she knew, even though they'd only had their one night, it wasn't something familiarity would dissipate. The passion and fiery intensity were too intrinsic a part of his makeup. She easily recognized it now, even in their ordinary, day-to-day interactions—understood how much of himself he held back from the rest of the world. Kept hidden and private and only for himself and the precious few he allowed into his inner world._

_She wanted nothing more than to crawl into that world and live there with him, but she'd sacrificed that opportunity for the man standing before her. For all the empty promises she'd been stupid enough and naïve enough to believe. For all the second chances given and now… _now_… she was getting mad._

_"_Okay_ doesn't mean you get to pick up where we left off, Shawn. Why on earth would you even want to? After all, as you've so ably proved, you don't need me."_

_"Jules, that's not true."_

_"It is. And you made it clear time and again even before you disappeared."_

_He released an explosive sigh and shook his head. "Are you still mad I let Lassie help and not you with finding Jerry?"_

_"You didn't _let_ Carlton do anything," she snarled, viciously enough he backed away to a safe distance with a nervous glance. "He offered and for once in your life, you were smart enough to take advice from someone who actually knew better than you."_

_And she knew he'd done it for her. Whether out of guilt or because he thought he was trying to give her something he thought she wanted, she wasn't certain—and while she knew that peripherally, at least, it had also been for Henry and for the badge, mostly, it had been a gift for her. _

_"Look…" she said, deliberately gentling her voice, "I'm honestly not mad. But I don't want to do this anymore." She waited until he met her gaze. "Let me ask you something."_

_"What?"_

_"Did you miss me while you were gone? At all?"_

_As his eyes narrowed, the light in them expressing confusion, she went on. "Because honestly? I didn't miss you."_

_"You didn't?" Honest shock colored his voice._

_She shook her head and felt a pang that she'd had to state it so baldly, but with Shawn, a sledgehammer often had to be used to make a point. "I'm sorry, Shawn, but truth is, I didn't. Truth is, I'm not mad and I didn't miss you because—" She braced herself to take another swing. "Because I'm in love with someone else."_

_"You're... you..." He blinked, the concept clearly too foreign to comprehend. "Who?" he finally asked._

_"I'm afraid, Shawn, that is none of your business."_

_She closed the door, feeling a bit bad that she'd ended their conversation on what could be considered a lie. Then again, was it? Even though they'd all been in each others' back pockets for years, the fact she'd fallen in love with Carlton really wasn't Shawn's business. Especially since nothing could come of it for the time being._

_At least…no _relationship_ could come of it for the time being. Making her way to her bedroom, she sank to the edge of the bed and opened her nightstand's drawer where proof of the one definite that had come of her falling in love with Carlton resided. She studied the pink plus sign staring up at her from the plastic-shielded window, still as vibrant as the day she'd taken the test. She had no idea what the future held other than the fact that she was going to be a mother._

* * *

She lay propped on an elbow, and carefully stroked his hair and lightly traced the lines of his brows and the curve of his lashes as they lay against his cheeks, not wanting to wake him, but unable to keep from touching him. Hardly able to believe she _could_ touch him. That he was lying in her arms, asleep, smiling, even, the edges of his normally stern mouth relaxed into a sweet, vulnerable curve.

"God, I love you, Carlton," she whispered, hardly able to believe she had the freedom to say it.

"I'm dreaming, right," he mumbled softly, eyes still closed. "Or Spencer's finally driven me completely around the bend and I'm in the best loony bin a cop's pension can manage."

She smiled and leaned down to brush her lips against his, whispering, "Not a dream. Promise." When she straightened, she found him gazing at her, his eyes a deep, slumberous blue in which she desperately wanted to wrap herself.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked in a soft, hazy rumble that sent shivers down her spine. This was what he sounded like, first thing in the morning. This was what he looked like, eyes half-open, salt-and-pepper waves of his hair in disarray, his chest bare and warm and calling to her to touch, which she happily did, trailing her fingertips through the coarse hair and thrilling to the feel of his heart speeding up beneath her palm.

"A while," she said. "Had to go to the bathroom."

The sleep haze disappeared in an instant. "You weren't sick, were you?" he asked sharply.

"Shh… relax." She stroked his chest with more deliberation, soothing away the rigidness holding his muscles hostage. "The morning sickness has been gone for a while. But I have to pee every hour on the hour it feels like."

"Oh." He relaxed back into the pillows, drawing her down to lay over him. "Sounds…"

"Like a pain in the ass," she finished with a laugh. "It is, but so worth it."

His heart sped further beneath her cheek, accompanied by a deep sigh although he remained silent.

After several minutes of lying there quietly while she listened to his heart and he stroked her hair she ventured a tentative, "Carlton?"

"Yeah?"

"You really would have stayed with me, even if the baby was Shawn's?"

He tensed once more, but only briefly. "Yes," he said so simply, there was no denying its truth.

"He was right, you know—about there being no way it could have been his."

A strange thing to be discussing while lying naked in bed with one's lover and the father of her child, and she couldn't have articulated why, exactly, she felt the need to bring it up, except she wanted to put the ghost of Shawn to rest in the most unequivocal manner she knew.

"I told you, Juliet, it wouldn't have mattered. You're the one who matters. You and the baby."

Warmth bloomed at the ferocity of his words. "_Our_ baby." She moved to sit up, feeling the light, fluttering shifting of the small being living inside her. "Carlton, it's important that you understand there was _never_ any question that this baby is yours." As his brows drew together in confusion, heat rose in her cheeks. This really was an odd conversation, but it was nevertheless a gift she felt compelled to give him.

"I've always used protection."

His brows lowered further. "Okay."

"Because any kind of hormone-based protection makes me really sick, a diaphragm's been my chosen method."

"Okay," he repeated more slowly.

She swallowed, feeling as if her face was on fire. "But I'm not foolish, Carlton, I need you to understand that."

He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. "I've never thought you were."

It was his turn to blush as she lifted an eyebrow. "Okay," he confessed. "Other than your ill-advised relationship with Spencer, I've never thought you were foolish."

Oddly enough, she felt more at ease. "So you'll believe me when I say, even with a diaphragm, I never, ever took unnecessary risks."

"Okay…" It was clear from the tone of his voice he believed her, even if he didn't have a clue what the hell she was trying to say. That he trusted her so damned much was a gift whose magnitude she wasn't certain he'd ever understand. Which made it doubly important she give him this gift in return. Her trust. Her love.

"What I'm trying to say is I never… made love to anyone who didn't use protection as well. Ever."

The heat returned as she stared down at her hands, one twisted in the sheet, the other resting on her abdomen. Funny how that had so quickly become a habit. Comforting for both her and the baby. And when Carlton had done it…

_Focus._

The silence between them was huge as he absorbed the greater meaning behind her words.

"I didn't use anything," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "And needless to say, the diaphragm was the last thing on my mind that night. None of which even occurred to me until I realized I was pregnant."

He bolted upright. "Oh, God… I'm—"

"Don't you _dare_." The tears that threatened at a moment's notice appeared as if on cue. "For God's sake, I'm not telling you this for guilt and recriminations, Carlton—I'm trying to tell you, you dolt, that stupid as it might sound, as far as I'm concerned, you are the only man I've _ever_ truly made love to." Her voice shook. "That I've ever… given myself to completely and… and without reservation."

If the silence before had been huge, this time it was all-encompassing, feeling as if it was sucking all the air from the room as Juliet stared at Carlton. Pale, his eyes deep blue pools filled with wonder. The longer the silence stretched, the more the wonder evolved into something darker, so feral and undeniably possessive, Juliet felt every nerve ending tighten, making even the light, smooth weight of the sheet feel like an unbearable burden. Her breath coming in shallow gasps, she allowed it to slip from her body, leaving her completely bare to Carlton. In all ways.

"You really are mine," he said simply, the words emerging just shy of a growl and urging her own possessive streak to the surface.

"And you're mine," she said as she straddled his lap, her hips moving in a seductive rhythm almost of their own volition, her breasts tingling as they brushed his chest.

As her mouth claimed his, his hands moved beneath her thighs, shoving the sheet far enough out of the way to allow him to surge up into her so-ready body.

"You are _mine_," he whispered against her throat as her head fell back.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, Juliet gasped, "Only yours. Forever."

He stilled beneath her and tilted her head forward until her gaze me his. "Forever," he repeated, the feral and possessive woven together with such an obvious and deep love, Juliet felt the tears reappear, but for an altogether different reason. With a deep kiss, he gently rolled them over, but before she could hook a leg over his hip and draw him even further into her, he withdrew completely, leaving her chilled, confused, and absolutely thrumming with arousal, dammit.

"Carlton—?"

He smiled and pressed his fingers to her lips stilling her protest before sweeping his hand over her body in a caress that was both soothing and possessive. Had any other man ever tried to touch her with such demanding intent, she might have decked him, but with Carlton, she knew as much as he owned her, he gave himself over to her in equal measure. They owned each other.

"Forever," he whispered again as he rose and quickly left the room. And as much as she wanted him back in bed, now, and doing all those things he'd done last night and then some, Juliet couldn't deny she enjoyed the sight of him, nude, striding through the room. Enjoyed even more the sight of him, nude, striding back into the room, the whole of his lean, strong body so magnetic and compelling, she completely missed he was holding something in his hands until he slipped back into bed and set it on the mattress between them.

"You kept it," she whispered, looking down at the Craftsman bungalow that was the only physical expression of their dream that had existed—until now.

"Of course I did. It's our house." He lifted the lid. "Look inside."

She smiled as the interior of the perfect little box revealed the note she'd written him, neatly folded inside. Looking more closely, she could see how the creases were worn, the edges of the paper ever so slightly bent, as if the note had been unfolded and read many, many times.

Beside the note, however, was an unexpected item—heart pounding, she knew this was what Carlton wanted her to see. Carefully, she lifted the small velvet box, her fingers trembling so much, she could barely lift the lid.

"Oh, God…" she breathed.

A single, narrow band of diamonds set in platinum, because she'd told him, she really didn't want an engagement ring. It didn't make sense for them since they'd known each other so long and they'd agreed, that night so long ago, that if it ever happened for them, it would be fast and it would be final. There would be no need for a period of waiting, and neither of them had any use for announcing their union to the world. Their love was private and the promises they exchanged meant only for each other.

Besides, she was practical and an engagement ring would only get in the way of work.

His fingers trembling almost as much as hers, he lifted the ring from the box and tilted it slightly, the diamonds catching the early morning light and sending brilliant sparkles dancing along the walls and ceiling. Dazzling as the display was, however, it couldn't begin to compete with what she read on the ring's underside—the simple, entwined _C&J_.

"I'm going to take it and have yesterday's date inscribed on it along with 'Forever,'" he said quietly as he took the box from her hands and gently, almost reverently, slipped the ring on her finger.

"Yesterday's date?"

"That's when everything changed," he said, moving the keepsake box out of the way, before drawing her back over him and easing himself back into her body. With a deep sigh, he wrapped his arms around her, molding her body to his and holding her so tightly, she could feel his heart pounding against her chest

"I don't care when we make it legal, Juliet," he said, gazing into her eyes, his heart revealed in the ocean blue of his. "As far as I'm concerned, I'll always consider yesterday the anniversary of the day you became my wife."

Slowly, she smiled and met his mouth in a searing kiss.

"Not just wife," she whispered against his mouth, her tongue teasing his in a long, slow stroke her lower body echoed as she rose and fell in a languorous motion that stoked her desire impossibly higher.

"Yesterday's the day I became irrevocably yours."


	10. Epilogue: Someday's Now

Epilogue

**AN: **And so, we come to the end… again. Many thanks go to Loafer for suggesting I take another look at Both Sides Now and consider maybe… possibly… writing a followup. Also, many, many thanks go to all of you who've read and especially heartfelt thanks go out to those of you who've taken a few moments to review. Each and every one is read and appreciated.

And now, onward, to the end.

* * *

Karen choked on the sip of beer she'd just taken.

"What is it?" Juliet asked as she set bowls of chips and salsa on the umbrella shaded patio table.

Frantically rubbing at her nose to dispel the tickling sensation, Karen nodded toward the scene unfolding a short distance away.

Following her gaze, Juliet grinned. "Oh, that."

Carlton knelt at the patio's edge, expression vacillating between a frown and complete bewilderment as he gazed into the equally stern face of his three year-old daughter. Her hair may have been a wavy, deep golden brown, her features far more evocative of her mother's, but her expressions—oh, Lord, her expressions were Carlton Lassiter's to a T.

"Why not?"

"I told you, sweetheart, it's February and we can't go swimming at the beach in February." Despite the frown, Carlton's voice held infinite patience.

"We were at the beach."

"That was in Hawaii. The water is different there."

The little girl's startlingly dark brows drew together so fiercely, Karen bit down on her palm. No way did she want to potentially distract the scene's players. She'd been waiting for the opportunity to observe this precise moment almost since first learning Carlton was to become a father and it was every bit as entertaining as she'd imagined.

"You said Pa- Paci…"

"Yes, honey, it is the Pacific. Just like here. But it's different."

"No."

Carlton's frown matched his daughter's. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it is. Hawaii's much further south than California." He stopped at the deep blue look being leveled at him and shook his head. Trying again, he settled for a simpler, "It's too cold to go swimming here right now."

"But it's the same," she insisted stubbornly, and Karen felt tears of hilarity well in her eyes.

"Yes, but—"

The little girl balled her fists and glared. "Beach." With that flat declaration, delivered in a tone so utterly reminiscent of her father's that Karen had to bite down harder on her hand, the little girl turned to the giant canvas bag she'd dragged from the house and grasping the handles, began trudging determinedly toward the gate, beach toys tumbling in her wake.

Helpless, Carlton looked toward the patio. "A little help here?"

That was it. Karen completely lost it, bursting into gales of laughter as a grinning Juliet intercepted her daughter before she made a full break for it. Sweeping her up onto her hip, she brushed a teasing finger across the tip of her nose, delaying any potential outcries. "Amelia, you know better than to argue with Daddy."

At her mother's reasonable tone, the little girl's stubborn expression faded, although her lower lip trembled. "Wanna go to the beach, Mama."

"I know, baby, and we'll go soon, I promise, and we can fly kites and build sandcastles, but Daddy's right—it is going to be a while before the water's warm enough for us to go swimming. Besides today's about Daddy's birthday. You want to help him blow out the candles so we can have cake, don't you?"

Immediately, a brilliant smile broke out across the little girl's face as she nodded.

"Now, why don't you go see if Iris will push you in the swings for a while?

Once again Amelia nodded and slid from her mother's arms. Before she could run toward the back of the yard where Iris idly swung as she read a book, however, Juliet knelt and whispered something in her daughter's ear. A moment later, the little girl sidled up beside her father and held out her arms. Without hesitation, Carlton picked her up and settled her on his lap.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"S'okay, sweetheart. I'm just not as good at explaining as Mama is."

Once again, Karen smothered a laugh, this time by taking another sip of beer. Carlton Lassiter, brought to his knees by a little girl. She slid a glance Juliet's direction as she took the seat beside her husband. Brought to his knees by two girls, actually.

If anyone had told her once upon a time that several years down the line she'd be spending considerable free time interacting socially with her two top detectives—that she'd consider them both not simply friends, but family—she'd have ordered psych evals. But oh, how things had changed, especially in the four years since Carlton and Juliet had married. These days, it wasn't at all uncommon for Karen and her husband to join Juliet and Carlton for evenings out or get-togethers at their respective homes, especially since they now lived in the same neighborhood with eleven year-old Iris doing duty as Amelia's favorite babysitter.

Today, was another one of those occasions, gathered not simply for a lazy Sunday barbeque, but to celebrate Carlton's forty-eighth birthday. A celebration he was actually looking forward to, quiet and mellow, spent with people whose company he actually welcomed, unlike the surprise station celebration where Spencer and Guster had brought in an enormous seven-layer Frito-pie "cake" adorned with helium balloons, sparklers and a giant blazing **50** candle.

Marriage and fatherhood had rendered him far, _far_ mellower than he used to be, but he wasn't _dead_ for God's sake. Karen couldn't blame him one bit for drawing his weapon—hell, she'd been halfway to drawing her own weapon at the sight of those two, parading down the hall, monstrosity held between them and _warbling_, for lack of a better word, _"Happy birthday to youuuu… you live in a zooooo…" _while accompanied by the Santa Barbara Senior Citizen's Concert Choir.

Spencer had no idea how lucky he was that Juliet was as effective as ever at getting her husband to stand down.

As Amelia kissed her father's cheek with a resounding smack and ran toward the swings, Carlton lifted a dark brow. "Nice to know I amused the hell out of the peanut gallery," he muttered, reaching into the bowl for a chip.

Karen's husband, who'd been fighting his own laughter during the standoff, reached into the galvanized aluminum tub for a beer he uncapped and handed to Carlton.

"I warned you after she was born, you were in for it," he said with a wry grin. "Face it, Carlton—we're outnumbered."

"Son of a…" Carlton sighed and took a long drink. "I honestly thought you were exaggerating."

Even as Karen laughed at the exasperated, resigned, yet undeniably happy expression on Carlton's face, she kept half an eye on Juliet who sat beside Carlton uncharacteristically quiet. And pale. And for the first time in nearly four years, that particular Spidey-sense began tingling.

Very quietly, she asked, "Are you okay?"

Faintly green, Juliet nodded and reached for the pitcher of tea on the table, pouring a glass that she very carefully sipped.

Silently, Karen handed Juliet a tortilla chip. Not a saltine, but still fairly mild, all things considered.

"Does he know yet?"

Color slowly returning, Juliet shook her head. "Happy birthday?" she said with a weak smile.

Karen grinned. "Do you want us to leave?" Knowing how announcements of this nature could go. "Considering last time you gave him this sort of news was fraught with such drama, you two definitely deserve the opportunity to celebrate this one… _appropriately_."

"Oh, no," Juliet rushed in to assure her. "I was planning on telling him today. Figured the moral support would be welcome" More pink flooded her cheeks as a sly smile graced her face. "And give him enough time to recover so we can celebrate… _appropriately_."

Karen nodded, tears sparking at the backs of her eyes for altogether different reasons. If anyone deserved the happy ending more…

"Why don't you at least take him off and tell him privately?"

Juliet nodded. "I think that's a good idea." She turned to Carlton, deep in discussion with Karen's husband about local deep sea fishing excursions—a pastime they both enjoyed—and tapped his shoulder.

"Come help me in the kitchen for a minute?" she asked.

Without hesitation, he set his beer down and stood, his ever-alert gaze scanning the yard and ascertaining that yes, all was well with Amelia, laughing as Iris pushed her in the swings—high enough to make her squeal with joy, but not so high that head trauma was possible—before following Juliet into the sprawling Craftsman they'd called home for more than a year now.

"You've got that look."

Karen accepted the fresh beer her husband held out. "What look?"

"Karen Vick, you pull off innocent about as well as Carlton does."

She shrugged and smiled and because she couldn't keep a damned thing from him said, "Remember what I told you happened after Carlton cut Iris' cord?"

He nodded and slowly said, "Yeah… but you said he was fine with Amelia," a suspicious frown drawing his brows together.

"That's because he knew what to expect. It's the unexpected that tends to throw Carlton." She calmly sipped her beer and waited.

_Five… four… three…_

A loud crash, followed by a muffled _thud_ and Juliet's alarmed, "_Carlton_! Oh my God, honey are you okay?" rang out from the interior of the house.

So she'd been off by a few seconds.

With a smile, Karen set her beer on the table and stood. Extending her hand, she said, "Come on—let's go congratulate them. I'll help Juliet clean up while you pour Carlton a shot—or three—of Irish."

He shook his head with an admiring grin. "You're an evil woman, Karen Vick."

At the door she paused—glancing inside, she saw Juliet on the floor holding a dazed Carlton's head in her lap and gently stroking his hair. For his part, Carlton gazed up at his wife with the wondering expression with which Karen had often seen him regard her over the years—even before either of them knew what they'd become to each other.

"No, baby," she said with a smile. "I just love seeing people get exactly what they deserve."

_**~FIN**_


End file.
